Twilight Fears

Everytime I open the newspaper –
Man, blood, thunder and a shroud
Whirling to shreds – and I - a sleepwalker like
Stare meaninglessly into my heart.
Alone, with a wistful smile, I neglect
The uncurbed fistfuls of mundane events
I choked upon yesterday.

Today, a new shroud is shredded,
The tatters I collect in painted Papers.
Designs groan at the stains of pain
And the acid mood of metaphors
Walking loosely with outstretched arms
Groping in the twilight of dream and waking,
Only a scream, a touch or time
Could bail out the ‘I’
Form this well of saturation.

Buildings, narrow alleys, winding stairs
All known and simultaneously unknown
But always challenging me to attempt,
Faces strange or familiar, yet nonetheless
Frightening as if real,
Bloodied fur, new clothes, hungry fires
Humanized bullets and trained weapons,
Uncontainable waters and depressed winds –
Can anyone retrieve true hope of peace?
Can these wild fantasies day in and out end?
Can the bird lightly on my shoulder descend?
Can I smile as I glean tomorrow’s paper?