The Nuances of My Nights

            A poet knows
        The name of all places
        And directions to none
           - Not a Poet 


I write because it hurts
And if I scream they will know my pain 
I don’t want to scream
Don’t want to shatter the serene mirror
That holds together 
All false reflections 
The world holds dear
For the blame of it
Would lie on me
And I have enough confessions to pardon 
In my soliloquy 

I slept late yesterday 
There was a tempest inside me
And my mind was anchored loose
I was swayed, buffeted
And at once painted still
As if my soul
Was the albatross 
From the Rime of the Ancient Mariner 
And I thought: 
Every murder is a suicide in a way
Isn’t it?
To surrender the right of your life to someone else
Without a fight 
There are many types of murders
Of trust, flesh and mind
Common massacres
Gruesome
One of a kind…
It’s getting dark

I should have had dinner
But the lights were too bright
And candles too dim
The plate felt soft
And the spoon too thin
Or was it me
Who felt brittle and blind
With so many dreams to dream
And so few days to do
(Now that was a lie
For I cherish my own incompetence 
Like a child does it’s once favourite but now broken toy)

I am afraid I have found
The edge of my reason
And the world beyond (And would you believe it?)
Is a mirror…
It seems me and this mirror
We are obsessed with each other
In finding faults
In pointing out to one another 
Our own shrinking horizons 
Until one of us agrees
The threshold of our limitations 

I slept late yesterday 
(No, I already said that
Pardon, it’s the mirror reflecting my memories
God I am tired)

Good night