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Wil Kavi

The storm

depression

The storm is brewing.
I smell it in the air.
 
I am panicking.
I can barely breathe.
 
I fear this tempest
might cost my life.
 
The wind picks up
hard and fast.
 
The storm is raging now.
Bitter rain engulfs me.
 
I am stuck in mud,
which seems forever.
 
I pray to be relieved
of this daily nightmare.
 
I believe prayers are futile.
My God created the storm.

Most evenings at about dinnertime, I experience what I call the "dinnertime blues."

Other works by Wil Kavi...
The abyss

Who of you will follow where I’m bound to go? None that I can see. None that I can name. No-one that I know.
Sweet Mary Jane

I stole myself away from thee and me, for love of sweet Mary Jane.
No strings

I have suffered much while upon this earth, so aching to belong. To whom, or what, or why?
 1
Two hearts

I’m not really here right now. I can only be here when no-one’s a… and I know no-one can see me. Even when i speak to you, I’m sort of not really here.
Only ever thee

My garments have been stripped awa… along with any hope of tender merc… These feet made bare and sorely bl… It’s time again to bear your earth… Still it seems you know not what y…
The next contender

There’s a furious raging mob out beyond the temple walls; howling with a lust for murder of the next contender for their cr… It's more to do with feral instinc…
Ancient and deadly

What lingers within me is ancient… prepared for the worst of all poss… No matter how deeply I rest while… it’s forever awake, coiled and rea… It seems to be from before there w…
Voice of all-knowing

Within this pilgrim’s soul exists a hungry beggar waif, who can never afford a moment of indifference or distraction. Alert to every aching nuance
Sometimes

I commit myself to God; sometimes, not often. I believe in God; sometimes,
Amends

I humbly bow before your tender me… for no other reason than I’m sorry… As I listen to my old pal, Leonar… crooning out his holy tunes, there’s a message sounding clear
 1
End of days

Look out there, see them, boy ? They want yer juice. They’re dry, them circlin’ desert… All they want's yer juice, boy.
My love is true

My love for you is true, though we have never met. I will not lie to you. I will not steal from you. I will not con or cheat you.
Home again

Who’s gonna throw my pitiful ashes into the holy mother Ganges? Who’s gonna hold it as their sacre… Who’s gonna know the need for this… I’ve seen so many nameless shadows
The guardian

There’s a fearsome beast within, huddled tense and waiting, in the furthest corner of this brittle heart. It lies alert to any signal
 2
Siren's song

How does a landed mariner ever tell a living soul about the exquisite rapture of the sultry siren’s song ? As it echoed through the mist,



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