Swishing of Fidget

A Poem (02)

By Isyniê Sansan

 Perplexed reverberate

Coarse grass roar,

Muffled blows beat,

Spurred-rolling in the ocean of desert.

Breeze of wind seems ripping a strawberry cheek,

Ground as though cracked apart,

Blazing,

Flaring up,

Burning and burying everything on the surface.

Dark red dirty blood,

Congealed streamed down in nauseating,

Three bullets and old slug with a rustling sound torn ears of small kids,

Shriveled up one lone weeping,

Within anger and vengeance that echo some souls.

Life spirit is it is itself,

It is no damn precious, so worthless,

In raging of emotion and passion,

Twisted by ego & detest in and out,

I just ran eagerly,

Drew myself farther in sweats,

Bent over inside a peaceful trash bin,

Without any swishing,

Without any restlessness.

When would this matter touch the end line?

A collision for this transitory world,

That will be in absolute extinction gobbled by time,

So non sense,

And meaningless, ..

In a deathly still road,

In a quiet hazy night,

Warm embrace of mom i hunger after,

Sweet smile of dad I felt at the very end,

Will they be my last dreams tonight? ..

In an old hut, blanketed by breeze of cold beach wind.

Monday, January 28, 2013 10.44 p.m.