Yes, I know, …..I know, … I know;
that though I may live in a house,
I don’t live there.
I live in my mind.
Yes, my mind is my permanent residence.
In my mind, unlike in my house,
there are no restrictions
regarding the size of the rooms.
It’s a huge space with limitless capacity.
And believe it or not;
no matter how neat my premises are,
life becomes good for me
only when I declutter things out
in my perpetual abode;
Sadly though, in this my mind
is where I keep things messy;
linen of dirty thoughts under the bed,
secrets piled up in a corner,
over-expectations stuffed up in a box,
regrets swept under the carpet,
hatred cooking in the kitchen,
greed and jealousy tucked into
cracks and crevices,
worries littered the whole place,
comparisons spilling all over the table,
hot mũchene (rumours) cooling in the fridge,
complexes oozing from old cans,
grudges stinking in a closet,
and anger and bitterness hung on the wall.
And yet I can’t engage a housekeeper
to sort out the untidiness.
I’ve got to clean the mess up myself;
And so, I strive to dust, sweep, wash
and rinse the clutter by
staying positive, optimistic, and tolerant,
relishing peaceful thoughts,
poking my nose only in my business,
finding humour in difficult moments,
cherishing sweet memories, and
exorcising the demons that
entertain regrets, grudges,
and the other vices.
It’s only when I succeed in taming
these my internal temptations,
demons, moods, and conversations,
am I able to live peacefully
in my palace, bungalow, mansion,
flat or shack;