The Guests In My Room

The Guests In My Room prose poem

Photo by Scott McLeod

I know I see these words sitting across the room
They look at me, some wait,
Few of them are feasting among themselves, and
The others waking me up,
Pulling me, trying to push me out of bed.
And few words, who understand me
Wait patiently by the table, knowing me well
That I will reach out to them soon.
I wake up, with my eyes yet not wide open,
My hair all over my face, my dress all crumbled
Pillows still waiting to get a good stretch and the
Bed sheets trapping me with their spells, trying to
Put me back to sleep, that’s when I see them.
The words, few hanging from the roof, some sitting on the chair,
These words were the most authoritative of the lot I must say,
Compared to the others scattered all over my room.
“Why?” “How?” “When?” and “Can’t”, that’s what they said their names were.
“Why” starts first, it looks at me and smokes out a sigh, and
Leaves me puzzled, followed by “How?” who like an old witch,
Whispers something into my ears, leaving me with no room
To think, (bed sheets are busy trapping me with their spells,
Trying to put me back to sleep).
That’s exactly when “Can’t” and “When?” have a small tussle like two
Beautiful women (mother and a daughter),
“When?” chooses to walk away from me looking out of the window and
“Can’t “ keeps mumbling, pushing me hard at times.
My bed sheets calm me, trap me with their spells,
Trying to put me back to sleep, my eyes droop,
I know I see these words sitting across the room
I see them fading out, few snuggle inside my eyelids…….

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