Run Amok Poem by Kamarudheen Amayam

For a long time now
my travels have been
on the wizened back
of a wooden hobby horse.
A breed that can not gallop
even with loosened stirrups
Stand steady on its legs
Or react when its ears were boxed
nor when its mane caressed.

At first the travels were fun.
Hadn't Alexander, Ghengis Khan
and Napoleon trained on him
Will Durant had taught me
His eyes had a sworn-edged glitter
Risen mane hair were like sharpened arrows
and he could single-handedly win battles.

Time passed
but he led me to no battlegrounds
no empires awaited us without breaking up.

Nothing but that cement mixed sky above
the floor paved with darkness below
spring which blooms in the vase
and a world that blossoms on the pity of the flush door.

Slowly, I began to despise him
the travels bore me
and I was thinking of turning that useless thing to firewood
when he showed sign of change:
sleighing and shifting his tail
rubbing his hooves impatiently
battle cries and trumpet blows emanated from his ears.

Ejecting fire backwards
and bearing me.
To destroying which hell city
is he now flying?
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