Wednesday, April 29, 2009

The White Wall [a poem]

I closed my eyes and looked at the white wall.
It sunbathed in light; ten feet tall.
The two sides: eighteen meters long;
It stood: bright, robust, proud, strong!

I was angry at the white wall.
Cat-instinct, bundled-up in a squall.
I wish I could jump over, besoil it,
I desired black blood that I could spit.

I saw a huge stain on the white wall,
A shapeless loathsome spot, a grotesque mole:
Child's imagination? Poetic fancy? Rage? Ire?
I blotched a graffiti of miff, filth, choler, mire.

No comments: