DEATH WILL BE A RELIEF

Death will be a relief
after all these days
filled with sunshine
lice and beachumbrella
happiness. Even the torso
of the sky does not smile
so much any more. The
daffodils of memory are
no longer appalled by
the blight of the stock
exchange. The monkeys
of ill omen driving around
the vistas of these hellish
suburbs regard themselves
as seers of the bitter land.
Not even the relief of
springtime blossoms can cope
with the amount of desk work
piling up like tombs of
garbage. The staircase
that leads to a realm of
endless bliss is out of
commission. The doorway that
leads into the mouth of eternity
too is shut; there is no
way of escaping from the drought
of the cities. Even the bars
have fleas crawling up their
thighs. Even the harbours are
filled with the haggard embargo
of discontent. The mirror does
not provide the means of escape
so desperately wanted by the fool.