A poem simply sounds the bell, of that which words could never tell.

NAMING THE BABY

Perhaps I am already buried,
Blinded by obsessions,
Compulsions,
Large and small -
Lost in a fantasy world
Polarised strands of perception,
Pathetically incomplete.
Imprisoned in a cubic cell,
Home-grown,
A cocoon,
Self-spun,
The roof,
The floor,
There is no door,
And what is a window
But a see-through wall?
Could there be more
To learn
By not looking
At all,
Through the sticky, thick,
Congealing threads
Of my own beliefs?
Setting,
In an instant,
As if by command
Of a most obedient genie,
Into binding reality.

Perhaps there is another way.
To feel this life
Instead of thinking it,
Ignoring the shell,
Tasting the meat,
Back to basics,
Before I was taught,
Clever,
Before my innate & total bliss
Was scattered
Along the wayside
In my hasty pursuit
Of success.

The thing is -
What do we name the baby?
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