I Know These Dungeon Walls Poem by Haris Hidayat

I need not employ my eyes.
I know it by heart.
I can grope in the dark
the tallies on the walls
against a likely change
from the density of oblivion.

Corralled past the twilight,
herded towards the edge of being putrefied,
my strength to stay awake is finite.
The entirety of the oblivion lays me down to sleep
‘though I have grown to fear falling asleep
much more than I dare to admit.

Some nights I tiptoe
to make room for myself.
Resting my face by the tiny window,
moonlight is scarce and delicate to fetch.
The walls continue to watch and eavesdrop.
In their vicinity, I detest myself.

Though I resist being rendered out cold,
it is said I am less inhibited and talk more freely when
I’m asleep rather than when wide awake.
Once, while I was lapsing out of a sleep talk
and steadily entering a wakeful state,
the dungeon scoffed and held me in contempt.

I got up swiftly
leaving myself no time to ponder the pain.
As I budged from where I’d last slumbered,
the dungeon played out an old trick,
bemoaned its fate and asked me pitifully,
“Where are you going? ”

Outside
as throngs of isolated souls are chained together,
exerting the day to enliven a creek long desiccated,
I remain confined,
humming and singing hearsays of freedom,
in a perfect square compartment.

(Central Coast, NSW,3 June 2010)