Thursday, February 28, 2013

when noone’s looking

They aren’t all gone
They cant be all gone..
You, know..they still come..hear ‘em in my head
Over the rainbow and under the bed..
Bits and pieces…crumbs and bread
and they seem to fit… fall in place
till I sit up and take notice
go after ‘em with a pen
Like bed bugs they flee…at the sight of me..
Its not me I tell ya!
The pen is to blame!

That’s it! My God, I’ve got it!
If I had a typewriter…you know..
like the one Bukowsky’s got
I bet that’d do it! I’d have a shot.
Its all about the right tool you know.

(Well, may be not a typewriter.
Way to heavy to carry around
And they tie you to a spot – a table, a chair.
Nay! Tablets are better...get me one here!)

Heck, you think I’m full of it?
That a smirk on your face?
Good for you, you figured it out!
Sadly though, that without a doubt
that aint gonna do either of us any good. Would it?

No sir! This aint no excuse,
Nor another expedition for self pity
Or a testament of self loathing
Au contraire – this is a poet’s last stand
One last squish the mites dead…on this page…
in black and red.
A spring cleaning of the head,…if you will.

Cause like I said,
They cant be all gone
They aren’t all gone
They come…tip toeing at night
And gather in numbers..when noone’s looking

1 comment:

Kazi Rubaiat Imam said...

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand he's back! >clap< >clap< >clap< >clap< >clap< >clap< >clap<