I am the king of suffering: A poem 

I see the sky become a lantern 

like an old ghost rekindled by reflection, 

a memory that doesn’t need to be unwrapped 

out of cotton cocoons, but like dawn 

appears out of nothing. Even nothingness 

is radiated by thought. 

I think everyone’s brilliance 

is in being able to contend with life’s fare. 

How on earth is there so much dissimilitude? 

Even this memory that warms me 

is like an apparition, so near and yet so far 

characteristically undone by the contradiction 

like the fear of drowning while swimming 

These memories of love, belonging and nurturing 

are like glistening stars that go hidden 

in the clouds of despair and pain of wizening 

of trying to complete a mosaic 

that’s earth-shaken each time it is almost done 

And I feel that it is my fingers that are stitched 

not the cloth that I swore to weave 

And as I feel my sweat turn to wrinkles 

I resign to unchartered territories that are only too familiar 

And my ears ring with the song I sing 

that I am the king of suffering