My exhausted dreams died
Clinging to the flying skirts of the night.
Clutching on straws, I woke up.
The sun was a cranky old man, scrooging on his brightness,
his smiles failing to reach his bedimmed eyes.
So what, if it was lackluster; I had to hurry
though a flurry of activity; muster courage.
Run ; don the mask of a trapeze artist.
At times, even do the twist, ah!Control my rage .
Stuffing things in my bag, I stumbled out.
The concrete wall greeted me with a stony silence.
As the taxi crawled through a traffic snarl
The obscene graffiti scrawled on the wall
jumped at me, hitting me bang on the face.
[What a disgrace!]
“Oh dear, oh dear, I shall be too late”,
How come the White Rabbit suddenly became so vocal?
It was all the sun’s fault; so lazy, so hazy! Ah crazy world!
The restlessness, the impatience, the cribbing,
the bouts of ecstasy erratic!
And the never ending traffic!
Coiling me in an embrace never -ending, and the everyday chant.
‘The sun’s fault, it confused me by its lackadaisical ways
by reining in the sunrays.’