Let us talk about insomnia
at 3:15 am. A dark bird sits on my bed
& wants to talk about his ambition. I am
curious, where does ambition come from?
Is it a seed that suddently grows into
giant tree out of my head? Is it a slow
painting of canvas, taking shape, defining my face?
The bird wants to climb Japan's Mount Fiji.
The bird wants the fancy feathers of peacock.
And fling himself to the moon.
His ambition is burning his feet after jumping
over fire stones after piercing the hornet's nest
Well I had enough of the bird chatter dream
I want to talk about my ambition - that
fire within me that refuses to die when an idea
Comes to me, like a buzzing bee
over the blooming yellow daffodils
Deafening sounds, lively chitter-chatter
As my heartbeat is running faster and
faster. Sleep is forgotten library book.
My feet are itching for calm after
leaping into the air, like a gazelle
bounding out to the open fields
My spine tingles as if a lover's touch
stole my sleepy head. Finally
dawn comes with pink hues and holds
a giant mirror to my small idea bulb,
now scribbled with crooked arrows. Will I survive
the scrunity of harsh reality? Dark bird, remind me
again, where does ambition come from?
Come to me in circles.
Come to me, piercing my bosom.
