The end of the year is about to approach,
And stresses of the season on peace to encroach.
But the days free of work, they do permit,
More time to relax and on my zafu to sit.
Mornings are silent, as light paints the sky
I'll sit more intensely, hope my ego will die.
Will the phone interrupt and start to ring,
Will carolers come knocking yearning to sing?
Will kids awaken and silence destroy,
As the mythical Greeks in that city of Troy?
Such are the excuses to avoid the dual,
Between ego and self, the struggle to rule.
So here I type this retched little rhyme,
To use and exhaust my zafu sitting time.
But wait I'll stop, and to the zafu I'll go,
And finish this opus, but how I don't know.
I like endings that amaze or readers do shock
Like a lobster inside one's warm winter sock.
Or endings that turn a frown into a smile,
And readers remember, much longer than a while.
But this moment I'm robbed of any inspiration,
I'm corked like a colon, with creative constipation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem