POEM: To The Blues
The blue grey mornings,
Surah Noor
The same old reasons of mourning
This hollow feeling in my chest,
Like rise and fall in the tidal crest.
Looking for a moment of avoidance,
A tragedy knocking at the entrance
Finding peace in blood and guts,
Comforts like mother’s hugs.
The sluggish afternoon,
The sedative being a boon
An hour full of exasperation,
The next of satisfaction
The blubbering under the Adam’s ale,
The sighful inhale
The time full of joys of spring,
Is a successful win
The scared stiff night,
The hour of fright
The time of death- trap,
Hearing the spooky snap
The hour of fighting the evil spirit,
Falling into the darkest pit
The illusions played by the brain,
The dark full of pain.
