What Poem Down There Awaits Its End?

What Poem down there awaits its end?

Silence is a fish at the bottom
Of an empty ocean
Jazz that was played on the Shakuhachis
And the Bansuris
Muted; the rusted edifice falls down the cliff
Splashing in the ocean

The frog that ate the firefly
Slowly waddles around with a glowing stomach
Scaring off the insects
Finally starving to death

What story down there awaits its end?

Secret dead heroes of these poems
Life punctuated by the timely intervention
Of Death; Ah! Just in time, I was stuck on this sentence
I can complete it now

What novel down there awaits its end?

In suburbia, Goth girls by the dozen
Not a single lonely cougar in sight
My lover loves cacti
Moves Quickfoot like cat’s eyes

What love down there awaits its end?

Sitting alone in the stock exchange of a time gone by
Looking at the strange names flit in and out of view
In red lights on black strips
Loneliness who sits on my chest
And covers my mouth with her hand

Whose hand to reach out for now
              In the dark
Whose shadow to chase
              In the streets
Whose clicking heels to watch out for
              On the clean marble now cracked
Another face broken with neglect

What life down there awaits its end?
Dream:   A girl is at the wedding of her Ex, who’s dressed in poorly designed clothes. She laughs midway through the ceremony and then has to explain, Why.

  On a related or perhaps unrelated note, two brothers are trying to rob an antique    
  One smuggles himself inside the shop stuffed inside a giant toy and the other
  Between the 
  Pages of a book stuck together.

  The dream or the story ends with them telling the police how and why they broke  
  In, with
  The final words:

“And so for the next few hours, they heard the tale of those who sneak into antique stores, smuggling themselves inside cotton or between cellulose to steal a few paperbacks so that they too may have some food in their bellies and some tinder in their hearth.”

What poem down there awaits its end?


Mohamed Sarfan's picture
Dear Poeter, Somewhere my mind runs like a river and this poem chases me like a goldfish and plays. Life is exhausting before the flute music is heard and rested. Life in the path of dreams The blossom of a flower breathes for some time and then hides permanently in the grave. Write more Congratulations

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