Soiled Treasure

9th January, 2012.

Eyelids roll, to unveil dark pupil.
Swollen sore limbs gives me a handful ache.
Blurry sighted, I'm shrouded in white rags;
left home wearing pink outfit
with a peach veil.
Behold me, frenzied,
pale from unseen agony

A frantic aura welcomes me, the stink of rotting rubbish;
Invisible to my teary eyes, I breathe the befoul air.
Splatters of black paint fill the walls and
white curtains hang loose, swaying like leaves;
In the quiet dilapidated alcove.

On the ceiling odd images, ascribed in red.
The room, frost like a riverside gives me slight shivers.
I look around the eerie room, slowly sitting.
I see a daring mean face as I turn my head, clockwise,
It lies inside a broken frame on the tile floor.

The stranger in the picture looks familiar,
the only hint to my dilemma.
In the rear an antique settee caught my eyes.
A torn cotton cushion lay on top, exposing its feathers;
an awkward feeling arises, I feel queasy.

Obliviously,
I am distracted by the ancient pot in front of me;
made of clay with engrave patterns in the middle,
covered with an obsolete green dotted bowl.
I notice an accessory, by the side,
seems it fell off from the strangers hand.

Pieces of shattered glass glimmer on.
I move closer to satisfy my yearning conscience.
Appalled with the discovery I almost screamed.
At the close gaze I see a watch,
strained I fight pains to stand up.

My right leg limps, walking to the door seems like a journey.
Surprisingly it is unlocked, liquid stains on the door knob.
Gently I opened it, came to a halt with a deafening sound.
My leg weighing my flight to escape, going down the porch.
Yet hastening up I walk like a marathon racer, without looking back.

Just a bit further on the other lane of the suburb, I see a narrow road.
I let out a delightful smile, emotions radiating through me.
Slowly i get there, the ache of my leg turning into joy.
Leaning on a tree to rest my limbs,
a taxi came by out of the remote.
I boarded it, at last freed from the alcove.

Figments cloud my memory but what really transpired?
Last evening sitting on the log in the garden up the hill.
My brothers friend came by to have a glimpse of what is cooking.
As he was chatting us up, the glimmer from his watch got my attention.
Pondering, I became voiceless, a victim to a sneer hypocrite I was.

The taxi zoomed off to my vicinity,
Fierce anger giving birth to a tearful me.
Lost I resort to meditate.

(c) Y-MAG