Poems and Poetry

Diseased | A Poem by Sheikha A.

I look out the window
to inspect the buzz and fuss
of people’s chipper chattering
about golden September dawns;
the earth exuding warmth
as the winds frolic a chill,
and the scarlet of the sky
before waking of the morn;
the colours grey to me,
I watch you busy fending
unfetched memes of an artist’s
routine; the sip from your cup,
its rim that bears a dried up mark
and I watch you unwatching me,
immersed so thoroughly
in conjurable pursuits.

So, you’ve found your muse;
I go about mine, cleansing
the house that sits in me of a non-
perishable disease, I wish carried
a date of expiration:
melancholy.

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