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