Poetry

In dark I perceive soundless steps 
shifting restlessly 
rustling of clothes. 
gentle tapping on the window 
a shadow floats. 
 
I don’t know if I was moving myself 
trampling sleep. 
Persistent insomnia sometimes creates 
strange images. 
Heart will toss the words in silence 
and I will lit the blue flame in stillness. 
 
That skimpy memory of a half-burned 
corpse in a smoked room 
haunts me. I carry the imprint of 
violence in nerves, throbbing. 
A riot of bright color in bougainvillaea 
will wake me up in the morning.