Delight on the dot, all but not lost!!
(An existential poem)…
It was half past three.
He was sitting by the window
Gloating through the leaves of his own trees.
Flashes of undesired past,
wrapped up in melancholic dust,
playing string quartet at the back of his head.
Millions of unsolved mysteries unraveling their secrets.
Whispering into his ears their cruel intensions,
Tempering his wounds all the way up to the sins of flesh.
It’s calm again.
A loathing wind from the west
Kissing his wrinkled forehead
Blowing the tears down to the chins
Where a long time ago he felt his lovely princess.
Once for a brisk
He felt life again
Holding his numb fingers
Dancing on tinkle toes
Like a child of a gypsy runaway
A grinning sun right before the sunset.
oh but, It’s coming back
A curling shivering pain, hovered all over his head
With his lips up the sky
His dirty little carcass in his horrid mind
Floating like a Fijian butterfly.
Gathering what’s left, up to the knees
He takes a bold step toward the chest
Brings out a bottle full of a portion of hell
A long deep breath
Splits of silence
A long last look at all the loose ends
Does he have one? Perhaps
How he never felt even for a second
This would all be over with such regrets
Suddenly a sharp voice
From the far-east end
Suddenly a thrill chills his spine
Like a call from a whistling angel
What on earth could that be?
Rushing to the window he freezes to death
A stunning nightingale singing in the heavens’ name
This might not be over;
This might not be the end
This could all be written, once again.
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