A LONG NIGHT’S SLEEP
The night carries itself
far into the day.
The cellular dreams continue
despite daylight sounds.
The eyes open and close;
coffee waits.
In the dark, shadow figures
move, awakening from sleep
every little spot of wish,
persuading each to its fulfillment.
There are rootless smiles
that flower around
the body’s exquisite folds,
reproducing every human sleep.
The eyes open and close;
coffee waits.
The body begins to remember
each small thing lost, as if
in a dream, including
its own doubts and fears.
Then delicate fingers
find their ways through the hair,
a small tap on the shoulder,
a loving word whispered to the body.
You open and close your eyes;
coffee waits.
A pair of keen lips
perch on the eyes that open
only to close for further
dream and sleep.
In the kettle, steaming
coffee waits for
you, eager to be your
mouth, your lips.
And then, the quietly emerging
feeling that you are not alone
even in your longish sleep.
Someone else waits just like you.
Coffee waits.. Black coffee.
You take your first sip.
NOT BEING WHAT THE WORLD IS
The white clouds move away
towards another place, another time.
The day-light blue appears and lingers.
Somewhere you feel the weight
of the world, its responsibilities
filtering through your mind’s thin,
transparent layer of skin to its
very centre, asking you to be
what you have never been.
You review all that you have done,
all that the past has pushed into
its own future, try your best to find out
what went wrong, where.
All explanations seem to be only
an extended illusion of what you
promise yourself to be, every day,
every hour. Now the big world
looks at you with a suspicion
that challenges your small achievements
and pleasures, your inherited right
to remain yourself. And then, suddenly,
you begin to notice what life is, how
feather-like, how much sincere to itself, how
clear, and you, so difficult, so incomplete!
No comments:
Post a Comment