Inside These Walls

If all I see were walls every day, the little window 
where the guard peeps to see if I am still sane
before he serves my meal, I will give him a good look
and make him wonder if I am going to bite his hand.

An experiment failed in England in 1951 to keep the sanity
of a few young men for some weeks inside these walls
because they wanted out before the first week ended,
disoriented from these walls.

The skill is in my mind, what is in it, and who I talk to
every day and night. I look at these walls and ceiling
when I raise up my eyes to re-charge my brain
while my knees are on the floor.

I do mental drills every day just like a soldier would
and invent characters who I engage with in long talks, 
positioning them in every wall. Then, I would tap deep things 
from the deep repositories of my brain.

What my enemies miscalculated is the depth of that store,
how many years I pumped the knowledge that powers 
eternal life in me in the sea of connections in my head.
I lasted 7 years in these walls. O, how deep my repository is!

The Rain

You would rather be in the rain,
getting drenched by the downpour,
listening to thousand rain drops
hitting the pavement.
You step through pools of water,
and your weight lifts them up
to splash on your legs.

I cannot tell the difference
between your tears and the rain
washing down your eyes,
your cheeks, your neck,
but I can see from this window, your white teeth
and what seemed to be a smile
but the breeze and rain wiped them away.

Too bad, I would really rather be home,
in this bed,
to run my playlist over and over,
louder than the sound of the heavy rain.
I don't want to be where the water rises up
to become an angry flash flood,
and carry me away from you.

You are not ready to come home yet
to be warm and safe, and that is OK.