Last night, I drew my blanket over my face.
Once more, my bed became my coffin—
Bearing the heaviness of agony and dolour;
Of ardency unmet, of need for endorphins.
Today, I witnessed the birth of aurora
On my razor, gleaming faintly as I scrape
The unsightly brush strokes on my brightly
Coloured piece—the replica of my Ankara.
Not a bout of maudlin self-pity,
It is a wonder that my paintbrushes
Feel like fishes at hold looking for their way:
Slipping into water with splashes.
Let the half-hearted complain, not me!
When will my hands bow down to my
Commands? When will they stop tremouring?
Let the half-hearted complain, not me!
@poescope
