The dissolution of a writer into the world of inspiration. His temporary death, characterised by his lack of response to his environment, for a while only to rise again to newness.
Bringing forth creation.
You sit quietly
Clutched in the grip of thought
Staring into space with vacant eyes
Seeing through and beyond all material realities
You drown amidst the sea of faces, voices
All chattering, waging a fierce war on silence
Yet you take no notice
Like a Turtle, you have withdrawn into your shell, your skull
Flying into your fantasies, exploring your private world
You are not even aware of the one who has taken a seat next to you
Even though she is squashing you with her bulky frame
You don't stir
You just stare
The bus starts, leaves and makes stops
But you are only vaguely aware of this
Just conscious enough to watch out for your stop
You get to your stop and only then do you begin to crawl out
Reeling and walking dazed from a massive dose of fantasy
Disoriented by the glare of reality
You find that it is not easy to travel in both worlds simultaneously
So you follow the lead of your feet as they follow the road spread underneath
Turning at the turns and straightening at the straits
Your mind swinging back and forth from the past to the future
Leaving a mind numbing whirl in the present
This is all so depleting
So you go home and eat
And do other things, which you don't remember
Then you finally sink into a tired sleep
But it doesn't end there
It only introduces a new chapter
A new scene with the same cast
You have become one lost sheep
In whose eyes the lines of fantasy and reality has become a blur
Poetry by Alfred Iwerebor
Read 894 times
Written on 2006-05-16 at 16:41
Tags Inspiration
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Bringing forth creation.
Flight into fantasy
AlfredYou sit quietly
Clutched in the grip of thought
Staring into space with vacant eyes
Seeing through and beyond all material realities
You drown amidst the sea of faces, voices
All chattering, waging a fierce war on silence
Yet you take no notice
Like a Turtle, you have withdrawn into your shell, your skull
Flying into your fantasies, exploring your private world
You are not even aware of the one who has taken a seat next to you
Even though she is squashing you with her bulky frame
You don't stir
You just stare
The bus starts, leaves and makes stops
But you are only vaguely aware of this
Just conscious enough to watch out for your stop
You get to your stop and only then do you begin to crawl out
Reeling and walking dazed from a massive dose of fantasy
Disoriented by the glare of reality
You find that it is not easy to travel in both worlds simultaneously
So you follow the lead of your feet as they follow the road spread underneath
Turning at the turns and straightening at the straits
Your mind swinging back and forth from the past to the future
Leaving a mind numbing whirl in the present
This is all so depleting
So you go home and eat
And do other things, which you don't remember
Then you finally sink into a tired sleep
But it doesn't end there
It only introduces a new chapter
A new scene with the same cast
You have become one lost sheep
In whose eyes the lines of fantasy and reality has become a blur
Poetry by Alfred Iwerebor
Read 894 times
Written on 2006-05-16 at 16:41
Tags Inspiration
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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Kathy Lockhart |
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Onyeka Nwelue |
