Sitting by the shore
On the edged jetties
Trailing through the fingers
Those cusps of clouds
With eyes shut, paused thoughts
Breathing all of nature in me.
Gathering the voices of wings,
Savoring the music of the lonely wind
Here I sit, not to go
But to make this call my rescue abode.
Let not your creation be the thoughts you keep running from.
Rappelling down to the vortex of thoughts
I could hear my voices echo
Some teeming with urgency
While some, lying in angst
At the corner of the damp pillow.
I wished to swipe them out
But alas! “Your creation”, they exclaimed
My brazen thoughts and those voices
Work but in tandem
And I’m the only one to be blamed.
I see the world not how it is
I see the world not how it ought to be
I see the world through my screen
Sitting in my room; sipping in my tea.
I see the blood splattered across
All inclusive defiling my outlook
How I wonder if it were not true!
Sitting ensconce on a mumsy sofa
Witnessing the diaspora
All I can do is spit out anger
Onto the screen which needs cleaning later.
Alas! the world I thought was beautiful
Plundered it now seem
Carry the casket of the bodies away
‘Cause tomorrow again the misery would refill.