The Transit

What about Sleeping and Dying:

Sleep is transit

                  nothing but emptiness. 
The fantasy of our chattel, 
                   unseen to no one else. 
The fading cry of an infant 
                   and the fireflies in the dark. 
Our eyes are closed at dusk 
                   but wide open at dawn. 

The magniloquent hooting of the owl 
                    and the mystery of cocks crow. 
We took flight in spirit without wings 
                     amidst sweet fragrance of the moonlight. 
Yet;with no clue we brood. 

We sail the sea in fantasy 
                     and crave for the corporeal. 
The emptiness of our being 
                    when we plunge in chariness and dare for wake not assured. 
In transit no wake is assured!

 

© 2013 Hussein ab Oladele All Rights Reserved

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About Oleads

Poet, Dramatist, Teacher And Creative Entrepreneur - Positive Change With Compelling Creativity
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