(i)
In the misty
hanging cloud
of afternoon
in my room,
I'm awaken
by crickets
and birds
in the house's
west wing.
And jumpy
sore-throated
jamming frogs,
broken flutes
in their
choked mouths.
Another world
of squeaks
and snarls
swells into rumbles
from the house's
large mouth
of growling leopards.
But I see no
animals running
or jumping
around the garden.
I see no big
bird strolling
or floating
or trudging through
in the drifting
verandah.
(ii)
I hear a dog's
bark, breaking
the glassy
air into chards
that nibble
me off, as turn
round in bed
clawed
and scratched
and bruised
by the canines
and molars
of that bark still
lodged
in my spine
splitting me
into pieces of me,
as I carry
night's soot
and the clouds
of a roar
that devoured me
and spat me out
with a whirr
into a buzzing gnat.
(iii)
The morning
unlocks
and slams ajar
its full door,
as squeaks
and snarls
shoot up
from rattling,
squeaking
silverware,
chairs dragged
about
on vanished
marbled floor in roars
and growls
from an interwoven
thick jungle
of dining space,
children at table
on the battlefront
of a gaudy brunch,
forks and knives
weapons cruising
for the kill.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Interesting imagery. I would have liked this poem had it be written in Blank Verse with longer lines. I think it lends itself to that. Thanks for sharing this.