I draw my dreams up tightly
around me every night
and make a soft cocoon of kingly wisdom.
In plain black and white I loll.
No daylight enters through its thick
comfort; no bird drones its sorrow
nor delight- I am alright alone
in my empire of surfeit, successful, content.
On a perpetual knight errand on camel back,
I wear my politics round my waist;
it distends to my pleasure
tightening in a distress of plenitude.
Newspapers hardly interest me.
I find them excellent as flyswatters.
Only my wife broods over worldly hazards
while my children make a hammock of weekend cartoons.
The T.V. dishes out the latest analgesics.
And the glass cases brim with newer olympiads.
Life like a game of snakes and ladders
sucks one often up or down, while like the geckos
on the wall, we wait for the light to draw
one unsuspecting prey after another-
good sprinters to success.
Only the fool plays on while the wise one sleeps
warm inside the cocoon of his kingly wisdom.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.