The black sheep
Whites've jumped
The fence. Too many
To count, wakefully.
But aged eyes don't shut
In night's reticence.
The pain is more,
The kin are less.
And so, hence,
A form, in stealth,
To close eyes to,
To avoid in health,
Dark and solely
A social pretence,
Of sure distaste,
Mildly, intense,
Gathers weight,
Now making sense,
And invited to jump
That ancient fence
(To say needless,
Backward sequence).
Sleeping well is sane,
Awaking nonsense:
The hospital, doctor,
Ambulance, expense.
A shadowy sheep's
Dream-like presence
To do his bit, repair,
And repair whence
He appeared, yes, yes.
Tag is less pressing
Than convenience.
Sanjib Basu 