Saturday, January 21, 2017

This too is about pain

Coleridge, you fever bird
You sang out last night!


As I lay closing the day like a book
 groping for a bookmark named sleep,
you sang your grief.


 Why do you cry like one possessed?
It makes weird sounds against my window panes.
A moist breeze blows
I wiggle my toes,
rearrange my sheets for warmth,
my insomniac eyes long to watch your dream.
Every now and then, I tap my veins
to eavesdrop and hear the throbbing of my blood-flow
checking for a rift
through which a giant tree can grow
building a nest for your Albatross.
Your opium eyes sprout wings, beat on my breasts
 and I become a giant tree
building house for those lost dreams ,
comforting them to creep and climb my body.
 

3 comments:

Unknown said...

beautifully written!

PremI said...

A dream so heavy... I have gone through sleepless nights. I think I know this. Very well written

Anonymous said...

Exquisite ..yet highly poignant ..

But then I infer the frequency of emanations have become lesser and lesser and almost died out through the years it seems ? You shouldnt be exhausted of your poetic nuances or even you can start a Narrative , Story Telling or a Novel ? Why not ?( Do this.This will be a turning point and a fruitful venture to be undertaken and you are a Doctor of Diaspora, of Exodus . of a Cruise of Life poetically speaking ) .

I came here after a long long time . I wish you fly spreading your wings, soar high as an Eagle and not be weary but with Faith and Hope , Strength and Honour.

Richer and Truer as years go by , may all things be fine with you .

Be a Strong Woman.

God Bless.

Wishes.