by Bibhu Padhi (September 2016)
What is this feeling taking charge
of me, in the middle of the day
and family and my erratic efforts
toward rest or sleep, far from
all that I have known or
invented? No one is around
except my body
and an unfamiliar mind.
Nothing seems to move,
whether nearer to
where I am or beyond the hills.
The afternoon is no different
from the morning, when
I woke up late, having been
a victim of a late inducement
to sleep somewhere
much later than the middle
of the night. Someone who is
close by, retells similar stories
of unfamiliarity of a worrying kind
that happened to me in the past.
I know, she means well,
but until now, as of this line,
there is no sign of relief
from the worry, the absent mind.
Is there someone yet who might
know how such states are handled,
handled with care and accuracy?
Or is it the way most worries
end, become part of a fantasy?
Could someone answer for me?
Else, it must end, must stay here,
in this truant feeling alone and me.
Bibhu Padhi’s tenth book of poems, Midnight Diary, has just been published. He lives with his family in Bhubaneswar, India.
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