Enigma

enigma

If humans are exact–

inputting ideas as clear it can be,

then there’s no mystery to be deciphered.

Addiction, typing.

I want to know more. What do you really mean?

If only I were a machine, life would be simpler,

don’t you think?

Speak what you mean,

So I can make us happy.

Mummy

Disclaimer: This poem is not a suicidal poem. A reader found the poem offensive.  He didn’t know that I was being sarcastic. People do read things differently. I was trying to emphasize the coldness of winter. I guess I fail as a poet. I hope his “God” will pardon his impoliteness.

I stood by the train.

Wind is blowing.

Engine is rumbling.

It’s cold, very cold.

Two scarves unfold.

Just wrap it around me

like a

a bandage

and turn me into a

mummy please.