Fugitive
L= 22
They come, the foreign words;
They come in my sleep,
Knock me to wake up;
The words! The Captive words rebel,
Spinning rattling and hurling
Against the wall of my skull.
I hear their noisy call in slumber,
“Get up, please release us”!
I console: ‘ relax, till the sun is up!’
I recall those nocturnal nutty guests
In my chosen time of rest;
But get no response to my request.
I search them, summon them in vain.
I fail to trace them anywhere: far or near;
Lost like a faded echo in the air,
Before I trace them in ink and paper.
The white paper stares at me blank,
My pen lies idle on the wooden plank!
Though I dive deep for those captives
But they prefer to become fugitive!
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