"We shall not cease from exploration and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started
and know the place for the first time." (T S Eliot)
"A dark and chanted verse is what I am." (
Forough Farrokhzad)

Friday, October 19, 2012

THERE'S (SIC) MONSTERS OUT THERE


You wake up to a silent sun’s silky light
Seeping like liquid ‘round curves of curtains
That camouflage those bleak glass plates
You deploy to keep the outside world at bay.
For a moment and sometimes
Just a little longer
The infant glare and the implicit warmth
Call you out, entrancing, enticing,
Entreating a dare;
But you can’t respond
‘Cause there’s (sic) monsters out there.

The late morning’s softer bequests
Of subtle rays
Are so beautifully dispersed
That you can rise
And consider your garden’s
Daily needs and wants.
Armed with hot tea,
Cool patience, spade and fork
You can dig and weed
And nurture and water,
Making a paradise
In your own image;
But beyond the fence
There’s no reason to care –
Because you know
That there’s (sic) monsters out there.

On the few occasions
Your courage takes you out,
You can briefly withstand
The panic and the pain;
But those mere moments
Are few and hard won –
Grim respites
When your worst memories are in hiding.
Somehow your humour
Takes over the dismal stage
And you become
The most proficient player you can be –
Such perfect performances
Can make men stare,
Which reminds you –
There’s (sic) monsters out there.

When your garden’s cold
And tiring of your prods,
And your pantry has been filled
And stacked and tallied,
Your instincts turn wonderfully
To food and drink –
Although little of it finds a way
To you and only you.
Instead you bring it
To those you love without conditions –
Those dependent
On your slim hope and your firm faith.
Your charity saves them
And quenches their despair;
For, like you, they also know
There’s (sic) monsters out there.

In the insipid darkness
That follows each fear-filled day,
And primes your body clock
To give in to amiable sleep,
You can watch the electric traces
Of wild flashes outside
Your rooms pent up with candles’ scents
And flickering shadows.
Then the prayers that your god
Has waited all day to hear
Wash back over you
Like an ointment for your scars,
Making waves like massages
You can never share
Because, you know so well,
There’s (sic) monsters out there.

When it comes your sleep is deep
As though you had drowned
In a pool of sweet peace
And bottomless dreams
Composed just for you,
Where your sad history has been revised
And is different enough
To make you wish the pictures you see now
Were wholly real and fully true.
And yet you know too well
From the night’s noises in the neighbourhood
That bounce back and forth
Like lost balls in wonky computer games;
And you recognise signs in distant sirens
And in errant horns that blare:
You are indeed so right to believe
That there’s (sic) monsters out there.

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