The Jungle Where I Died Poem by Nicola Ann Jeremiah

The Jungle where I died

Like penguins on parade in our coats of black,
Swishing and ducking briskly on frozen tracks,
Passing traffic lights, horns blaring annoyance,
We emerge from the subway in our varied abundance.
Here in the material jungle breaks a new morn,
And the race to success is fast, and feverishly on.

In the looming concrete with suffocating windows,
Labor weary defeated bodies like faded shadows.
As we dart about in depressive frenzy,
Hearts lurking with hope, sorrow, and envy.
Every now and then glancing off, away,
To mind-stream our long-lost beach holiday.

Our desolate souls still seeking dead dream revival,
While our bodies labor incessantly for mere survival.
A myriad of desire buried silent yet still throbbing,
While our minds marinate in fear and disappointment.
Our wounds bottomless in deep pools of eyes,
Such cold emptiness is kindred so of no surprise.

There was a bench I once knew in the Church park.
Though the grass was green, the mood was stark.
Staring hauntingly ruminating lonely lunches,
Dreaming hopelessly of impossible franchises.
Drowning in grief I must slowly succumb,
And thejungle claims yet another victim.