Poet Rose A Karimi
I can’t recall the last time I sat down to write
Words’ve been accumulating day in day out
Didn’t know that my therapist (poetry) had been waiting.
It’s 8:35,I know Its not yet midnight
So am supposed to be ok but am not
It’s on such nights that my being is in riots
Trying to make amends with nature
Battling it out to see who’ll win over the other
I no longer count the stars outside
I no longer stare at my ceiling
Poetry seemed like the only escape route but it doesn’t work no more
I can barely stare at my mirror,
I literally lost that courage.
Am slowly drowning in thoughts
I feel the heavy teardrops summoned,I gotta hold it,
I don’t think I can let it out
The words that worked magic turned into ache
That same ache makes my body ache
The reason for my headache
Doctor said its Migrin
But am busy trying to calm my being
Trying to summon all the demons in my head
The Sparks seem so alive
They keep burning & pushing
Igniting the little speck of hope and turning it to dust
Watch the dust till dusk as it sways by the wind
Didn’t know that it could get this heavy
That I’d sit down and watch the last white dove fly from my window
I didn’t know that the sand on my hand was slowly drowning
That the oil on the palm of my hands would run dry.
I didn’t know I’d go through my diary,
Flip each chapter
Watch as the pages go down,
Try and savour each laughable moment.
Turn to my past and ask for a rewind
Turn to future and ask what’s in store
Ask both of them who’s better.
I feel tired of this pepper
Am tired of this era
Seek from the holy altar each moment
In utter silence seek answers from within
What did I ever do wrong?
Why do I deserve this?
And finally walk right into my present,
It’s now,am almost ending my poem.
Everything is still the same, curse it!
Why can’t it be a little different.
And I slowly put down my pen and paper.
The little hope slowly running Dry from my picher
Another night of unsaid thoughts
Another night of talking to my soul
Resting among thorns yet there’s none to turn to.
They’ll probably think it’s art
But damn it hurts
It sure does,
It hurts,it hurts
time to put down the pen
Fold the paper
Try and get some sleep.
©Rose A Karimi