Poem: Forthwith with the Cushion

1986. January 09

Living and breathing at the narrow outskirt of the hinterland

Pictorial acumen lost under the poseur of one’s nightmare

You escape into your dreamland

Figuring and calculating

If thy countenance is prepared to see those images what mortals situate themselves.

 

I scanned the horizon and to my amazement

I saw the mirage of dreams long forgotten and thrown away

And my knees buckled in and ceased to be

A fledgling running away to the direction of the cushion

 

Stand and see

Broken relics of promises and dreams

Passions spent for ingrate persons

Worse is the time that flows aimlessly, spent on faces that do not move or feel.

 

Let’s run forthwith to the cushion

Where hearts don’t absorb the impact of disrespect and pain

Where love is not unrequited

And the hour is not the tyrant of time.

 

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One response to “Poem: Forthwith with the Cushion

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