I wrote this about a month back, when some forgotten emotion surged within me and against my full cognition maneuvered me to the computer keys just like a puppeteer. Though I can’t recall what or why this came to be, I’d like to share it anyway.
Rising like bile through my body
Silent and undetectable,
Is the migraine of the spirit
And the purge of my security:
A voice that threatens an appearance
In this masterful theater stage––
Cords dangling from the ceiling and maneuvered
By a puppeteer drunk on his tears.
But I am mute.
And the audience is blind.
My frown goes unnoticed in the darkness
That hugs my body like a cloak.
My limbs are forced here and there
Moving to the dialogue of someone
Else’s plot. Unrevised and turbulent.
And the will left inside of me shakes with it.
It is a work of madness
That plays on my agitation,
And in which the ropes that restrain me
Are of my own spineless design.