Some days blend well
with smiles and songs
and the passion of love
leaving swishing whirlpools inside

Some days settle down
as dregs in a teacup
the bitter dross
sticking to the froth around the edge
and the residue coming to the surface
as if constantly stirred

Some days, the mind’s slits open
and fancies sluice down
like a dam with shutters removed
or like birds fleeing away from a cage

then hands quiver and ink spills

Some days, I feel so alone
stretching me on the rack of pain
then I shut myself from the outside world
like a periwinkle withdrawn to its shell
hoping nothing,
sinking under dead weight
unable to feel if dead or alive!