MD Pallavi & Andi Otto: Clockshop

Clockshop Video by MD Pallavi Featuring Ronita Mookerji Cinematography by Pritha K. Dramaturgy by Abhishek Majumdar Edited by MD Pallavi Post Production by Pritha K Special Acknowledgement Shoonya, Bengaluru Gowri Dattu Veena Appiah Taken from the album ’Songs for Broken Ships’ by MD Pallavi & Andi Otto LP & Download: Released by Pingipung Records Composed by MD Pallavi and Andi Otto Vocals by MD Pallavi Electronics, Cello, Percussion, PPG1020 by Andi Otto Recorded and mixed by Andi Otto Mastered by Jonas Roman at Chaos Compressor Club Vinyl cut by Ruy Mariné Dubplates and Mastering C&P 2023 Pingipung Lyrics by KS Narasimhaswamy Translation by Maithreyi Karnoor A horse is startled by his own blinkers Reflected in the glass of the clock store What do I tell you what the time is When all I see are clocks galore? From the cotton stalks under the sky’s roof Panting like a python just fed The rooster of towns rendered nameless Crows aloud to life’s forehead Wide-eyed minutes of virile number fields Strangle like a creeper past mornings The evening galloping with a head full of bees Has an endless line of ships drowning In the house on the third path felled by the storm A child wails on unceasingly Countless seconds bearing black spots Make zero of feathered wings seemingly I once dreamed of changing all this And walked with a bone for a bow drawn But sighting a boulder that had changed before me I climbed out the anthill and carried on I turned into a star and invited you close From your fond horizon of red-blue plumes Swathed was time in the woolly-dog hammock Of fire-tongued mid-March mango blooms A mad neem head is adorned with birdsong Clouds hold footprints of golden beams A little on with the tears of the monsoon On the deer’s antlers is the wild stream The rains stop and the chill sets in Brushing white flowers to my lips, a maiden fair In the evening, an old woman stoking the last embers Of the fire wears it in her knotted hair Behold the bundles, the pitchers we carry O lord, this journey of steps in line Why do you ask me what the time is To whom are the clock’s numbers divine? The eyes of the earth have turned around To see moon beams after the pyre fire And those that are trod by cows and calves Roll over onto the barbed wire The five-split pomegranate from the yellow Now bears a colour hotter The shadow of five fingers is then born On the ground and on the water Below the grave’s lamp, a lizard’s five-pronged vow A bottomless plate of five anklets neat How coy are you, O beauty approaching Relics of dreams of a five-hued seat When I asked you what the time is You said it is as long as the clock ticks