Genesis of my Poetry (03)

Chaos is birthed
in a bleak corner of my room,
by the blend of light and darkness
and the rite of writing.

candle-flames flutter inside halos
like gentle eyes of a fragile child.

Brewed coffee scent
invades vapor and air,
filling the room with bitterness.

my mind wanders within itself.
random assimilation of meanings
unfold naked silhouettes,
flow along coffee smoke
in majestic ornamented letters,
and poetic apparitions.

amidst that instance of chaotic genesis,
I am torn between
innocence and cynicism,
frailty and fierceness.

apathy strangles my words,
devours the purpose of my creation.

I am left with nothing but
a trauma to feed upon,
and from which to write
the poetry that never means
anything to anyone.

25/03/2016 © Waseem Sherif
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