[the chair]
this is not my home
but my chair.
it clasps me in its stripes
as comforting as the tea
that has coated me inside.
this stylish chair
holds my eyes on the glass curve;
windows dividing chic-sofa miniature-orange-tree office
from monday morning.
out there,
i see a glaring capsule view of city;
gothic spires and railway-station brick,
jagged swoop of rainbow terraceed houses,
flash of grass behind the ugly hotel,
meaningless flags waving,
and the streaming reams of traffic.
this frosted glass paradise
is not my home;
today, it is the chair.