Redeems

A lonely sight, the unmade single bed
That swallows up the air inside the room.
Though nightfall comes and goes, its battleground,
The place where dreams are born to die by morn,
By new day’s light debased and cruelly torn,
Is always bloody, cursed by restless sleep.
Yet, I see some strange beauty in the scene
Where remnants of each yesterday are strewn.
So there they stay, my rumpled, tousled sheets,
A monument to better days gone by.

Outside the window, green gives way to green,
Still fending tooth and nail against the grey.
The asphalt, bricks and mortar cage me in,
Not letting in the smell of summer nights.
And though the swaying of the trees in breeze
Is not due to the air blown through my hair,
I fantasize about a great typhoon
That sweeps through here with great impunity,
Reminding me of Nature’s primal force.
Alas, electric fans take not its place.

But though I call this room a prison cell,
The door is open, beckoning me out.
Some idle pleasures surely wait for me:
A movie, maybe, or a ping pong game.
So maybe, I am not trapped by these walls,
And rather I am stayed by my own hand.