Double vision, can’t read newspapers, an advantage
as the news is bad, Central African Republic falling
into anarchy, Congo fighting Ugandan rebels in the
east - thought January blues was a thing of the past
But no, this morning inner bleakness like the bleach
used to wash shirts, spelling death to living things –
like chlorine – enveloped me in impenetrable black
clouds and last night several strangling nightmares
Swept me into a place of wordless misery – maybe
the fact that I was born in January is the reason for
this annual depression that spoils the beginning of
everything, staying at home & the return to work
I thought modern medication would be stronger
than that – but no, mute I stare at my newspaper
wishing the letters would stop dancing before my
eyes, wishing I was young enough to dream of
An alternative to earthly life, at present reality is
far too hard and bright and I cannot find the door
to my inner Wonderland…
[5 January 2014]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem