Fuck / Tomorrow

A Poem

By Monsur Titilope
Francesca Woodman (1970s): Nude Self-Portraits

Tomorrow is as scary as seeing your flesh withering in bits / like you whirlpooling into a gulf of forsakenness / and an eddy-storm gulping you from the other end / like you vagabonding through a sealed maze in your head /

How a dream aligns a fashion of clouds / at the mouth of eleventh hour’s door / the face of next room won’t fit in vogue / for weathercast too fails / A twinkle of delight in your eyes is but a myth of sand heap / as you sob of grievings / that plague the entrance / tiptoeing along a crumbled path of fate / on you / on people you love / on the little tenderness you cherish in life / all flesh peeled naked /

Your prospects nestle close to hell / no messiah can save it from burns / except that you fetch from an oasis of stamina / to bath off the heat / Somehow / then / you are just a boneless beast of burden / to anyone or anything across a desert of ordeals / but /at least / you can keep to yourself a bank of breaths / and be enough / till the whole of you remains nought /