This Morning… (a dialogue within my inner self)

Within these confines that whisper of impregnable quest to quench the thirst of an ‘innocent monster’,
Illuminated by the flickering light of years past,
Resting upon the comfort of ‘wished upon destiny’,
Sleepless thoughts of the ‘should have had’ dreams nudge the passion of fingers long lost in the warmth of broth that is life,
And woo them they do!

I know less why the birth of a new day finds my eyelids still pegged,
The breeze of the ghostly dawn guard against the dreams of my pillow.

Solitude be the bride I walk down the aisle,
Every tick of the clock is a whack that coils itself round my haunted heart,
I detest from wailing to save face from my proud self.

Seeds of thoughts planted in yester days force their debut to the tiny surface of my mind-field,
Yet am overwhelmed to tend to my thought-lings.

Over and over, have pounded clay to mould my pot of wishes,
But this new day, the clay for my pot of wishes does not smoothen to the touch of the potter.

Like a thread of ants, my mind is a bombardment of thought-ants,
And busy as such it is.

Still at a loss I stand,
This ghastly morning, This morning…

Have fathered my thoughts day in, month out, years over,
Though this morning I can’t mother my thoughts,
Am unable to bear my thoughts for my reader to share in what it is that I desire!

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