There He Lies

24 10 2015

There he lies
As warm tears wets and well up his eyes.
He shrugs, and bends his body, like Asian obeisance,
he fixes his eyes seizing the ground

Halfway suspended, he let his body drop
to his whaling bean bag. Falling prostrate
he felt his lily-liver do all the talking.

“What can we do to make things better?” is one question
he never cared to utter, well, simply
because he never thought of it. But instead,

“I’m old,”
“people hates me,”
“it’s too late now” were like mantras
that fills the interspaces of his thoughts.

His normally unkempt hair made him realize
that this is the way he prefers to live—that he
has been defeated, and he cannot dispel his beasts,
the self-imposed darkness that empties him.

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