Pure doves on palmed terraces -’73

I’m not bored – but when I return a duty will impinge on my dulled senses.

I’m not crying to God – but to within, honing the lenses.

I can do it ! But my lethargy has turned to stagnation –

must not allow it to seep into resignation.

A prisoner in this faraway house – not home

and when alone in conflict  for I am not free to roam –

to run to the rooftop and proclaim a mind momentarily free

for he might return – and I cannot escape the pretence  – the conformity to be.

Funny – I could leap from this window, but how would I climb up again ?

Two floors down  and my bones then broken helpless their strength to regain.

 Nerves in shock, brains spilt, sliding through cracks.

How to collect myself and put it all back ?

Such sadness at viewing those free from this tyranny –

cats stretching in rhythm to sunshine – playing in frenzy.

I should not think forlorn since they too are trapped.

though naive to the confines as mapped.

I’m tired, I cannot find peace

– just think of those damned to pain

both the intellectual  and the maimed.

I cannot this moment  escape, frustration without release.

Must return to my country and then my torment appease.










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