A Quarantined Quartz
When on the solitary settee, I sit
Shells of silence conceal my being
Clicking on the ridged cartilages
A sole sound from the tirelessly ticking hands
Hung on the wall of solitude, walks in
The clock houses a quarantined quartz
Just as all of us - humans at home.
When on the spruced-up bed, I settle
Ubiquitous uncertainty floats in the air, up there
Spinning from the ceiling, fanning my flames of fear
Whirls and whirls, my mute spectator - the ceiling fan.
When through the glass pane, I take a sneak peek
An empty lounge, a void play area gaze back at me
Lawns lulled to slumber, wrapped in layers of loneliness
Seems to be an unexplained mystery - this emptiness, this nothingness.
When into the tunnel of thinking, I'm thrusted
Imprisoned within a fort of fright
Caged in a casket of catastrophe
I yelp at my helpless being, yet
A rumbling train of thoughts keeps up the stride
Only to embrace luminous rays of hope at the tunnel's end
Baking my sunken eyes, blissful beams whisper -
"This isn't the end, things will soon mend."
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