Impromptu Untitled 30/04/2016

I have no stories with words and scribbles

ink crawling on derelict parchments

just a stowaway on a mind-boat

sailing aimlessly in oceans of language

alone. among the timelessness of

their chaotic movements.

 

There is no X to mark the spot.

no clouds above, no sky

no water in the ocean, just an ocean

no metaphors, no poetry.

 

I have no stories to tell.

just a Broken inkling of nonexistence

in a Room of Empty Reveries

and the Void to fill it with.

 

no meaning. no sense.

irrational. unreasonable.

nonexistent.

 

take it or leave it. that is

the only story I have for you.

isolated in its own fantasy,

feeding upon those oceans

full of scribbles and words and

bones carved by quills,

the instruments of Poetry and

Death.

 

30/04/2016 © Waseem Sherif

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