THE DEATH WISH

The dream that slowly rose in soft vapour
Was caught up in the ceiling fan
And amidst 240 rotations per minute
Torn to shreds,descending fluff-like
Back to the cool mosaic.

But phoenix-like,it reforms and rises
Up again for its slow transcendence
From amidst the cluttering furniture
To the rarified air of the night sky above
And again the fatalistic embrace of that swirling killer.

The flickering tube light groans empathy
Do its neons buzz with feeling?
The wheeling terrorist constantly swishes
In its menacing trance;the sole overseer of this little room.
The poor upholstery is crouched dumb in meek obeisance.

And what of that dream,its insatiable attempts?
Its torn shreds,its shards and shrapnels?
O cruelty!Is it to be locked in this constant death role
Of being born to be torn,of being torn to be born. Let rather tears embalm it with their liquid wreaths and follow its quiet death.

If only once it could soar like Icarus
And bask in the ephemeral ether of freedom
Spreading its wild waxen wings to float in immensity
And greet the new born sun in its eastern baths;just once.
Such that its mortal wings melting,it dashed to the earth
In sunlit glory. .