Bop: The Clock That Refused Colonial Time

Stanza 1

They bolted it to the courthouse wall at noon.

Its hands were meant to slice the day into obedience.

Minutes marched in straight imperial lines. Shift whistles blew like overseers of breath.

Children learned to measure worth in punctuality.

The bell declared which hours belonged to whom.

But the gears began to murmur at dusk.

We will not count our lives in borrowed hours.

Stanza 2

The clock loosened its spine from Greenwich decree.

It tilted toward the moon and listened.

Tides entered its mechanism with silver patience.

Harvest seasons replaced fiscal quarters.

It ticked in planting and reaping.

Ticked in drum circles and naming ceremonies.

Ancestors leaned close and breathed into its cogs.

Now it chimed in remembrance rather than profit.

We will not count our lives in borrowed hours.

Stanza 3

Markets opened but the clock did not hurry.

It marked the return of rain before it marked a meeting.

It honored the pause between inhale and prayer.

Its face glowed with constellations instead of numbers.

Workers stepped away when their spirits required rest.

Grandmothers measured time in stories completed.

Children watched the moon teach fractions of light.

The courthouse wall held a different rhythm at last.

We will not count our lives in borrowed hours.

© 2026 ALife Allah