In Search

January 22, 2012 at 4:37 pm (Dominic Alapat, Poetry)



of rhythm

the old poems tumble out

of the mind.


Like the black cupboard

in the green wall

I would climb


to sample the darkness

through the shelves

I would crawl


opening boxes

entranced by the silence

and lulled

by the softness there


lie back and dream

I guess I may have wanted

to be one of them


know what it is like

that sweet little red tin box

with the blue bird on its lid

quiet sitting in some cosy tree


in the sun

and the rows of medicines

with their intoxicating smell

taking me half a world away


until I begin to recognise

the bedsheets stacked till

the dark triangular roof


standing full of the softness

of welcome

the world called home

calling out to me this is it

this is it

the real thing

the real universe

like a mother telling

her child


come home.


– Dominic Alapat


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