tís already night,
but I need not say goodnight.
And the morn is dawn
but darkness still pervades,
impeding the rays of the blazing sun
whose heat is beneficial to the rose
that distills the healing balm.
Are these strange phenomena
the products of the supernatural designs
or the handiwork of regulators of anarchy
manipulating the natural order
and shifting us arbitrarily
like pieces on the chessboard?
And if we cannot distinguish fantasy from reality,
and reality from actuality
become bubbled up to a jumble
that make us get stuck like Lotís wife
and our goal slain on the strange altar
The weeds that grow on the roadside,
the warbling birds and the quivering trees
will scorn and sing mysterious songs
before the rustling winds
that make our tight girdles flutter
in its attempt
to remove them from our waists
and leave us nude.
Metals are silent,
but when struck with objects,
they speak the language of the sonorous sounds.
And sea surface is serene
but when disturbed by the wind,
it ruffles and splashes
who have quintessentialized the absurd
and relegate their actions
to that of allegorical mummeries.
Is reason not protesting against a dogma
which rides on the wave of the forbidden pleasure
whose name is disorder?
April 2, 2014.