here inside a soliloqy

in the swallowing of fiction
we’re scurrying in hurrying
to be hiding one from another
the warmth of our arms
we’re raffling in the markets
the womb under seige is forgetting
and our souls are coloring grey
the tape of tomorrow
plays on in tonight
so what’s the use of sleeping
follow the line wasting no time
don’t recall so least of all
you might have a shadow somewhere
the tape of tomorrow
plays on in tonight
so what’s the use of sleeping
so what’s the use of sleeping
so what’s the use of sleeping
so what’s the use of sleeping

dark eyes they circling in a tear
silently and heard
as a whispering embraced
begging softly and still
a silence enfleshed
in a hidden presence
a prayer to the One

the darkness is warm
when it conceals
dreams seem real
‘cause they having no feel

circles turning
close kin to one the other
longing ‘cross a distance
honed close to ah edge
spinning round the life 
in a bubbular space
wandering ‘bout the time

these hands they be
no part of me
in dreams they play
scribbling strange shapes
upon this clay

why’re the children up at midnight
when birds are no where singing
and old folks are blow’n snot
 in the palms of their hands
and the swallows are never
whispering in this dark

after all is said and done
what then is being known
when a river has run its course
where then has it gone

Copyright © 1993, 2020 Asili Ya Nadhiri