Man Under the weather

MAN UNDER THE WEATHER

Face contorted
Like iron screws
Piercing concrete wall
The past  an illusory glamour,
A lagoon of miseries
Whirling images of infirmity
Insensitive to the compelling agony
Of the soul.

Sick in mind,
Wide awake in thoughts
Dreading the impending horror
Of strangling incapacitation.
The clunk sound of falling mangoes,
And the whining mosquitoes  wings,
On cracking sound of roaches under boots,
With the melodic crow of the cock,
Conjure this spectre of the last hour.

Bereft of the twirling
Of feminine mid-rift,
Of glazing ember thighs,
Like masculine convulsion,
Drained in the throaty celebratory gulp
Of *brukutu flowing down taste buds
Devoid of canine grindings.

And  imagination now the agony,
The millions of teemingness
Stowed away secretly;
The concrete estate and scrapers,
Assurances to progeny, never to lack
Crashing down before you.

This wisdom, tutored in confidence,
Resistant to divine control,
Under the weatherman
Wealthy in poverty of  mind;
No man controls, this gift of life,
Or is master, of his own.

I  journeyed with observation and I know,
Common sense is deficit in the house of means         Robbing men of reason with dictates                          Only  of false uncommon wisdom,                                         until disease visits
 With his mistress of panic, fear and regret.
  
Under the weatherman sharing same pain
 With the gate man, or is your pain different?
Now is not best  contemplative time
Beware mortals are equal.
For all same cradle to grave.