SWEEPER'S SANCTIMONYA Poem by SHEEMA HUQwe simply can't love everything we do
Briskly, one sweeps, Pshhst Pshhst Pshhst
against a crude tide of resistance, Pshhst Pshhst Pshhst as the mind, shattered, wonders, exasperating further hindrance. Averted eyes, roll at sight of the party organisers’ deplorable, tactless offences. Pshhst Pshhst Pshhst This was some gathering, why are there still pieces of tinsel, and ribbon, attached with cello-tape, hanging from the high ceiling? And why are 6 of the spotlights, no longer working? Pshhst Pshhst Pshhst
Pshhst And did they not even have their own bin liners? Common sense must have perished, for who ever stacked the chairs in front of the fire exit. Pshhst Pshhst This must have been some gathering. Pshhstshhst
Pshhstshhst (fast...) There could have been a year’s supply of cigarette butts, amongst the squashed canapés, can rings, serviettes, and some unidentifiable things, compelling one to question the nature of the night’s social encounters. Pshhst shhst Pshhst shhst Arrh, the rusty gate creaks, while the back ceiling has begun to leek. Pshhst
shhst shhst shhst (reaching into the corners) Reaching for a silent detachment from their presence. pshhst. Only the sunken sky offers a distracting fondness , holding back the ebb of unreason which is
responsible for my irrational moaning, up to completion. Even then, triumph recedes with the unequivocal breeze. © 2013 SHEEMA HUQAuthor's Note
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StatsAuthorSHEEMA HUQLONDON , ENGLAND, United KingdomAboutI am SHEEMA A LONDON BASED POET THANKS FOR READING! more..Writing
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