I Look Into My Small World

I look into my small world

Once full of meaningless things;

Objects and experiences of the mundane kind

That before would exist

Without impression upon me—

And I wonder,

why now

The little blinds by my window shake,

And I am suddenly disturbed—

Or why, when the coffee brews deep and black

In the morning,

I sit for a moment


Playing with something;

I wonder,

why now

The midnight grass

On my bare feet

Shoots me away,




It is as if

These things carried significance

To stop me in my place

And think;

But how deeper it is than that—

How it goes to the core of all that exists

Behind them and within me;

And it is simple,

Being narrowed to nothing greater

Than this:


Behind every turning of the blinds

I imagine you at my window;

In every note, of the aroma

cast off by the morning coffee—

I am overwhelmed by your hazel hair;

And in the grass—

I am ushered to the place

From where this sensuous craving

Was born


Everything hides a piece of you;

And perhaps, I am tortured at the thought

Of seeing you erode away

into insignificance.





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