IDLE MAN

by: Leybugh

Piled up books with an unknown content

An empty paper, a pen with ink, unattempt

Dart in hand, aimless thrown.

Days gone by, akin to a juvenile man.

Almost 4 months bestowed to catch up with the train;

Never even tried to walk or run to line up in lane

All those times, inside his chamber

Unfazed by the storm that might come sooner.

Water rushing out from the pitcher

Pour a cup but with a close lid

A garden of pit, eggs in the crater

The main container rotten— unfilled.

A day left for the storm to come

The man woke up from his long slumber

The piled up books seemed to be a foreigner

Turn every pages, ain't feeling better.

The awaited day finally arrived

The man ain't ready, no hint if he will survive

Courageously face the storm and leap

He has no choice but to accept the whip.