The broke man pockets a lottery,
Every time, dawn rises, with an orb of fire,
Aurora’s surprise, light’s epiphany,
Crossing a crack in a curtain,
How the crow is now cawing,
On an electricity line. Ominous you could say.
While the magpie and the myena, search for seeds
Like I am, tiny seeds to renew my lease of life,
To germinate a new chapter in my life,
One absolved of pain and suffering.
The past, a doorway that time enters
At the same dreaded pace, like a navel of an hourglass,
While I become a wasting doormat,
Fate, takes for a slave, and perhaps God too
Making me like biblical Job, who lost everything
And still stood by God’s cheek.
I’m sucked into a large black hole,
To a place and time, called the future,
That comes unannounced on most times.
I lift myself up, and draw open the curtain,
Of the one window in my bedroom;
That in itself, a ritual of hope.
Kite Dreams 