In one of the rooms of my flat– 

a quiet world in control,

a wasp was circling around my head–

like a hurricane

it’s here and there

with no sweet cookies, not even a flower

It’s a dark, hard and intellectual place–  

with no comfort, not even a trace of grace

and it flies as if it’s its lovely space

Me, afraid of its sting

try a lot to make her away

and it, in front of my eyes, still plays

making me angry, restless, more hateful of the day

What a fuck she has found in my place

that even the open window cannot be joyful to escape?!

It was with me till it hurt me on the head

Now, it was a privilege for me to leave the place

for the intellectual dancing of the wasp who claimed

the possession of the room for the rest of the day.

It was, of course, a sensible runaway

and curse the world but to feel, to some degree, safe again.

Courtesy of Google pictures

From my second collection Out Inside (in press).  Austin Macauley Publishers