P. J. Radford
A Wait In Kuala Lumpur
Sprawled on my bed in my KL cell
I search through my head to note
this heaviness in the dark.
Some sounds of life beyond the whirring of my
ceiling fan, this fan that like a mother does
comfort me, like a lover does caress my skin
with its soft touch, like an old friend serves
so nicely to take the cutting edge off the
silence, but not overmuch.
just a touch.
And if I walked outside the stars
would hold some familiarity for me.
And if I talked beside the stairs
with the Chinese boy I may see my humanity more plainly.
But no. I lay ...