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A beautiful wife I got married to,
She is deaf and dumb too,
She opens my mind to creativity,
She hates activity,
She is romantic,
At times we think erotic.

A soft wooden chair at my backyard,
I sit on it and visualize my graveyard,
I rest my tired back on it,
My dinner there I eat,
It’s a throne of peace,
I sit there to write every piece.

The spirit that accompany my muse,
It helps me put my ink into use,
We conversate without saying a word,
We win battles without using a sword,
It evolves my mind,
Telling me the world isn’t mine.

The everlasting route to Hades,
Where there is no headies,
The companion of the dead,
Living and the misled,
The keeper of the underworld,
Absorber of the noise of this busy world.

Is the classroom for poetry,
The atmosphere around the fig tree,
Where I marry alphabets together,
Where figure and parts of speech gather,
Where my mind is impregnated with lies,
And my ink with lines.

©️Dan Chuks

The Chosen Poet
(Writing from the depth of loneliness)

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