by Muhammad Shanazar
I awoke rubbing my eyes,
For someone disturbed my sleep;
A figure I witnessed in the light,
The intruder made me perplexed,
Though the door and all windows were shut,
Even a fly had no slit to prod her head,
Yet he entered into my sleeping-room,
And I was marveled, baffled more and more;
I stifled my shriek lest he should be an angel,
Or an agent, ministering the hell.
He was roughly clad, his dress was ragged,
No better than a scarecrow with torn sleeves and hems,
He had long disheveled hair with entangle bits of straw,
His mouth dribbled, his fleshy belly was round,
Skin all black with many coats of filth,
Hands with the fingers long, enormously nailed,
The eyes were horrible, grey sightless, gave no impressions.
Overcoming morbid I questioned, "O! Stranger who are you,
How did you hop in, what mischief you intend to do?"
He jerked his dribbling jaws and responded,
"I am no stranger, I did not hop in,
I live with you since your birth,
For I am your inner-self."
Last updated June 24, 2011