As I was editing this poem, a quote from Rumi (a Persian Sufi poet from the 13th century) was running through my head: "I don't care if you're dead! Jesus is here and he wants to resurrect somebody!" I had read this from a book of his poetry someone had given Dad when I was home Chistmas 2007. Thanks to all who helped me edit this!
Narcolepsy
hinting some forgotten action
or dream secured beyond
boundaries of perception and I'm
still standing still
what would have happened
if he had not awaken
to the cry of his disciples
to the pleas of desperation
to still wrestling wind
to calm wrecking waters
its tiring - the impertinence
of choice, there's no proof,
excuses playing hide and seek,
words caught in the inhale -
exhale of silent indecision
listlessly roaming parallel roads
of REM, editing around reality.
signing blurred agreements,
neutralising language, to speak
without opinion,
the lack of meaning recycled
into mindless rotations of
slurred daily news
my body's in warm cocoon
window shade blocking day
or moon, the only horizon glares
dusty white above and simply,
I only want to push snooze...
hidden under bed or babel,
who has ears to hear
distant echoing cries
amidst the lilting limericks
cloaked in regular rhythmic rhymes
the alarm bleats in numbing repetition
screaming to the drowsy mind
but there isn't time to think about
what I don't have time to do...
