A wistful poem about an introspective journey to look within, when the body is in suffering.
Fever makes my body
A bit like the mind –
Tender.
Sensitive.
Flushed.
Pain clogging throat, ears
Be like chapters
If you focus, you read and learn
A thing or two.
Phlegm that hides in sinuses
Apparently indifferent
Merely look for paths
To elsewhere, elseone.
Throbbing of veins in temples
Waves running through the head
Pulsating assorted pains,
Connect me to my sheaths.
When sleep eludes,
I play a game of questions
To peel off the tangible
And find out who.
…
This. Journey of delirium
Beside an open window
Of an unhurried train
Yes I see you pass
In shades of chrome
Of mustard fields
I turn my head
And look behind
You are nowhere
To be touched or seen.
Traveler,
Remind my fevered body and mind
To look for you between the sheaths ;
To look within.
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