By Tonny Wandella

How long should a stoic soul wait?
Ere it is cuddled
While it lingers here slovenly: it is my phantom
Trotting through every premeditated embrace
Walls seem like flapping veils in the wind
It can’t be tamed: not with its atrocious restlessness

Behold, behind there is a dust, grim and full
Ahead smoke, casting shadows over nights
In this blindness it is bold
It is all over; ferociously calm even in these nights
It cannot be clothed in purple robes
Nor crowned with generous carats
It tastes pain and pleasure and all are insipid
Thence to freedom to be safely kept; it longs