The Poetry Syndromme




I'm hooked
To profuse soul spillage
And spilling my soul ink
On this canvas
Where I meet my world
Colors every facet
Of my wavy-watered being–
I spill on my canvas
Inks of all colours.

Sometimes it feels
Like the bathroom
Takes an eon of my existence–
Rinsing all soap
From my body
Housing my soul
That rages with verses
Seems to go sluggish,
Sometimes showering
With my gaze on my gadget
Lying on the bed.
All I want
Is to save my gadget
From getting water-stained–
I will only wipe my hands
And sometimes
Care less
About soap foam
That clothes me.
All I want
Is Office Mobile.

Sometimes 
A shadow of oblivion
Casts itself
On my food that cooks.
So I head to my gadget
And start penning
Poems that nag my soul.
Poems are like souls–
They nag and haunt.
So my food
Will be coals
Far from intended.

Sometimes
My gadget charges in centuries
At a time my soul yearns
For the latest ink spilled
On some canvases
To which my soul is hooked.

Sometimes when away
From my gadget
I feel like picking
A piece of charcoal
From the finest wood
And jot a poem
On the iron sheets.
I feel like I can pick
An acacia needle
And shed my leaking ink
On sisal leaves.

Sometimes I wish
My inborn garment
Wasn't clothed
In petroleum jelly
So that I can stain on it
A bit of ink 
From my soul
Then fold my sleeves
So that it won’t get erased
Before I reach my nest.

Sometimes I wake up
At the middle of the night
To shed some ink
That will cure my insomnia.

Cannabis and khat
Hook in a way
That calls for a ban.
The poetry syndromme
Hooks my soul
In a way
That calls out
For further ink spillage.

© Sea-Crab Poetry.
(Voyager of Words)

Similar Poetry from This Blog 

Some Useful Notes
Sometimes the spirit of poetry becomes an irresistible flame burning from within. It's a spacecraft that can take a poet to realms in which they've never set foot. This time round, the poetry syndrome in the soul of the Sea Crab culminated in the birth of Magically Merged. Would you like to view this poetic gem colored in a deep poetic love?


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