Sickness depresses my spirit
And shut down the doors of the sense organs
My soul recoils within the shell of my body
My heart retreats to a solemn feast.
There is within the flesh a great void of vanity
The spirit ruminates on bizarre planes
Seeking the verity of essence and elevation
To life is indifference, death becomes a handy foe.
Life and death are allies to trickery;
For we neither could sleep nor wake
At day overcome by a sleep-in-consciousness
And night, burdened by the waking-in-slumber.
The mind conjures up blurry images
Through grim eyes veers hallucination
The head goes a spiral in nocturnal planetary
As the body on a bed of limbo is confined.
Monotonous drone of air in empty jar whirred
Round and round the head dome
Whose sinew and vigor once thrive but now
Whose nerve and wit have become vain.
In sickness the body and spirit convulsed
And brings heaven and hell to closer horizon:
The body’s nourishments are repulsed by it
The spirit retreats from life’s elevations.
The Supreme comes to the fore of reason
Above all ambitions and abundance,
Which are subject to breath; when it runs afoul,
We shall again ponder its mystery, in sickness!
Copyright © ITSOGHOLE O SOLOMON | Year Posted 2015
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