Monday, 7 January 2013

Staggering Home

I’m deaf
I can’t hear a thing
It’s silent
And then it’s quiet
Yet I hear it blare
My nerves are alert
My eyes are red
My hair wrecks
The stench of cigar and alcohol
I stink
My clothes are sweaty
The night was hectic
I can’t feel my legs
I’m still a bit shaky
I’m staggering home
I can see my gate
I know it is a gate
It looks so familiar
I can smell my flowers
The refreshing smell of the freshly grown grass
My face is so flushed
I just need the soft comfort of my bed
My tongue feels dry
I crave water
I stare at the gutter
I laugh and shake my swollen head
I stagger on
Ignoring the horns and lights
I turn the door knob
The smell of the ever familiar furniture
The enchanting environment of bliss
My home
My place of rest
I slam the door
Turn the lock
And slump on the soft rug

By Sylvia Chika

© SylviaChika 2013

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