Friday night – still as bad as Friday itself,
still can’t gain control of my mind and
consciousness, noises still irritate and
normal pursuits fail to interest
Still haven’t recuperated from the latest
bout of lost concentration; watched TV
with the family; the BBC - the artificial
hilarity of “Black Adder”*; the poignancy
Of “Porridge”* with Fletcher once again
saving a mate, read assurances on the
Internet that life is supposed to be fun,
but the day is long gone
The only fun that I’ve had is the dream
I’ve conjured – Abraham of Esther-Hicks
fame says if the dream is good enough,
one need not experience the reality
I am content with the extent of my fantasy,
but please, please tell me, when will my brain
return to normal again, allergy-free; so I can
concentrate on the here and now
Without taking flight into a state of mind
that obviates the need for rational thought;
I would love to be able to think straight
for a while at least
Acting like a normal human being again,
even if only until the next attack of those
killer-allergens!
*Two BBC programmes (comedies) called “Black Adder” and “Porridge”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem