Mousetrap

The thoughts?
I have left here and there and I do not remember where.
Perhaps on some subway station chairs, and in conversations,
And in a few of their hearts
Perhaps over the Sintex tank, the walls, the ceiling
About the tubs in the terrace, the albums, the cupboards of store-rooms
Possibly some in the underground room
Or, in diaries, emails, letters, words
And in musty, dusty, rusty shelves
Where industrious spiders have spun home

And also, of course, the attic,
Where the rickety skeleton of my Neverland rattles
With the sound of hidden treasures of life
And bits and pieces of yesterday’s whispers,
Bubble with untold secrets to speak.
And where time sits,
Stifled by rusted batteries,
Possibly dead as a corpse
And with it: an eternity
Stays like magic.

*****
The shadows and ghosts from yesterday’s coffins
And also from the withering, yellowing, graying stories
Are suddenly starved for oxygen
And for words, so they pant hysterically
And tonight it may rain and as it rains,

The shadows and ghosts may break free
From the subway station chairs, from over the Sintex tanks, the walls, the ceiling,
And from about the tubs in the terrace, the albums
The cupboards of store-rooms and from the underground room,
The diaries, the emails, the letters, the shelves, the unfinished stories
The finished stories, the dangling stories
And possibly from a few of their hearts

And the thoughts?
Will resound in endless void
And their laughter will ring like a bell in my ears

In the attic,
The skeletons shall dig into the
Cardboard boxes,
Whispering old stories
And in the monotony,
Reminding morals here and there,
As always,

While,
Time may sit
Stifled by personal stupidity,
Helpless in the deafening laughter
As with it, an eternity
Stays like a curse.