A Humoristic Dead Bed
Hectic, the day has been;
Birds are flying back home;
Back home, on the head of the hill, the sun sets.
Sets of exhausted people, home they rush;
Rushing to families to meet faces infuriated;
Infuriated, in the bed I jump inside the sheets.
Sheets and blankets spread oddly in the cradle;
In the cradle, I stretch desperately to see her imminence;
Her imminence smells no chance, except the cold kiss of chills.
Chills have dissipated the marital heat to sow coldness;
Coldness slain communication to inherit hatred;
Hatred in bed, I crooned the last words in a deaf ear.
Causing one to turn left, and right the other moved;
Moved in discrepancy, a boulevard traced between carcasses;
Carcasses shed tears to replace conversation beneath the sheets.
Sheets covering cadavers that died in silence;
Silence of humoristic demise on a lifeless cot;
A lifeless cot that communication can resurrect.
Poem by Mugisho N Theophile
Copyright © Mugisho Theophile | Year Posted 2020
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