.
Aimlessly wandering
   with a feeling of agitation,
      caught somewhere between
         browsing with interest
            and prowling with intent.

Distressed and unsettled
   like anticipating trauma,
      mooching with an emotion
         that something is imminent
            yet its nature remains veiled.

The horizontal line defines a stability and yet,
it has started to list off to one side.
Tiny perforations promise fragmented logic
by osmosis revealing the storm implied.
The tap of excitable energy is dripping slow
threatening balance with a flood rip tide.
Empathy walks with the expectant father pacing
and coils of despair knot so deep inside.

A nervous anxiety
   grips psychology and waits,
      caught somewhere between
         bleak submissive acceptance
            and stark naked panic.



© Pagan Paul (22/05/18)

We, lost Africans
left the savanna
to follow the stars
leaving the ground
to stride with arms
down by our sides
to inherit the earth
and dirt of other lands
following the caravan
of sacred elephants
taking off our black
helmets to discover
other atmospheres
learning to breathe
here as well as there
drinking and singing
like blood thirsty
tigers the dangerous
songs of maps drawn
and long forgotten.

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.