Unfinished typing.
by me, just now...
Anything gained, through meta-writing?
A clock ticks the seconds off, one by one,
And as the immersion takes hold,
The minutes melt away into
So many background sounds,
Destined for some deep abyss
Of half-perceived dream of a memory...
Standing on the platform -
Typing on the laptop -
Taking a sleepless plunge -
Typing away on a keyboard
Makes it easy...
What plunge is this, then?
Where will I go, and
What shall I do, now?
Alas, there's the rub.
No inspirations rise to meet me,
No grand images unseat me and
No destination appears to greet me.
I am left to wander, aimless -
A shadow and a ghost,
Chained to my bed by
Shackles of poverty.
So, shackles?
How do I unlock thee?
Perhaps, a bit of practice
At frugality and
Career pursuing.