Friday, January 26, 2018

First comes the desire

First comes the desire to escape, 
to look up for  listed 
names and ruffle through 
your drawers for the lost 
time-tables of long distance 
trains,
then an empty freedom
roaming in the uncertainty 
of the next second, 
next an echo that twists 
and curls around the 
habit of everyday, you 
look at the catalogue
of the pending day, it
stands barren like an 
empty street on a summer
day, you now know where 
your colours descended from,
now your days are hung like 
wet linen on murky days, 
you quicken home but for once
you pause before your door
when it strikes you hardest
you turn back to the unexplored
alleys but the strength in your legs
are gone, 

days pass practicising words
you want to write

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