He struggles
to find the appropriate word.
He oozes
perfunctory self-assurance.
He never
takes the path less travelled by.
He is
fulfilled at the distant sight of joy.
Night is
just an internecine,
a time warp
where sides are changed,
when he
takes an (un)ethical stance,
while
cruising in a ship of forlorn hope.
He has an
opinion on everything,
the kind
that does not really matter.
He was fed
on a false future
all his
life. Some of which, he
redeems from
his wife.
Trying to
improve his lot, he
worked his
fingers to their bone.
He fakes
emotions with consummate ease.
While giving
his child lessons in morality,
he greases
the palms of those who swore
contemporaneous
honesty.
In a teeming
sea of ordinariness,
he will pass
you - unnoticed,
you’ll never
remember his wrinkled face,
and on the
final arrival, in death,
while
obviating his last trace,
they will cover his stupid face.
4 comments:
oh... i liked it... the proper study of mankind is man..:)
really glad you like it.. :-)
Im always taken in by the layers of meaning in your poems.. I find that 'night' appears frequently in your writing, and is probably integral to many poems.. In your poems, night is an abode of misgivings and contemplation, but is also sometimes a harbinger of hope.. Your poems stay with me long after i have read them.. Keep writing.. :)
for the lack of a better word, that was flattering. :-) Thanks a lot for that. :-)
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