Captured and Caged Souls
Some days are stuck
Stationary
Yet in motion.
Today I woke up
And met up
With golden beams
Of pleasant sunshine
Elegantly peeping their way
Into my dark bedroom.
She had gone to church
To commemorate
The New Year’s Eve.
Nostalgic memories
Of last night-
In our tenets
Was only me
And my pie
Exploding fireworks
In a somehow unofficial way
For we did it at nine something
In the evening.
We couldn’t wait until midnight
Since soon
He will be drowning
In an immense sea of sleep.
In the compound,
Moonlit,
We detonated
The little fancy bomb
Then it flew
In the wrong direction
Like an estranged space shuttle.
So it soared
In the direction of the school
And I’m pretty sure
That the watchman
Had his bowels boil.
Soon my pie
Was drifted away
By a wind of sleep
And I was left
In the company of stars
Roaming the night
Eyelids propped up
Like a security light.
I’m among the handful
Of night owls
Whose thoughts roam
The entire cosmos
And talks to distant galaxies,
Nebulae and supernovas.
Midnight–
The onset of 2023.
The night sky
Resembles that of Baghdad,
Mogadishu, Islamabad, Beirut
And so on.
Soon
The watchman is relieved
On learning
That the previous explosion
Was a celebration
In advance.
I’m relieved too
From the burden
Of apologizing
For the estranged fireworks.
Fireworks all over
Of varying blast sounds
And colours.
They make my pie
To writhe subconsciously
Perhaps transforming it
Into lucid dreams.
Souls all over
Cheering and screaming
In all languages
And mannerisms.
They’re saying goodbye
To brutal 2022.
During these sluggish days
I sit in my dining room
And stretch my feeble
And lazy hands
Toward the flask
That homes caffeine.
Chapatis
Are in a room
Situated in Andromeda
And by the time
I’m fully able
To pick them
A mug of tea
Bathes my bowels.
These stuck days
Are an angry ancestor
To be appeased
Before anything else
Proceeds.
They are an old car
Which needs a physical push
For the engine to ignite.
They are like pulling
A heavily loaded cart
On a muddy earthen road
Before joining the smooth
And distant tarmac road.
On such mornings
It feels like a task,
To put on
My pair of trousers
So I trudge on wearily
Toward the dining room
Fresh from bed
In my pair of shorts
And lazily drop myself
On the chair.
Our morning visitors,
Sometimes see a psychopath
Who's not braced for guests.
Those who've had
Such mornings
Already know
That there exists
Such a disease
That captures organs
During daybreak.
One feels motionless
And powerless
Like an infant
A-couple-of-days old.
Soon
I regain the energy
And now
My body and soul
Come to terms
And speak
In the same language.
I soon find myself
Sharing life
With my world.
Four ten
In the young evening
Of maiden 2023.
New goals, new determinations,
And new perspectives.
Then I pick momentum
And bravely advance
My way
Toward 2024.
Well, if you haven't waded
Across these marshes
You may never know
How the body rebels
The wishes of the soul.
You may never know
That sometimes we die
Temporarily
From time to time.
(Written on January 1, 2023).
© Sea-Crab Poetry.
(Voyager of Words)
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