I closed my eyes
to escape the
horrific realities;
in my dreams,
there was this man
violating his daughter,
cutting his wife
into pieces;
I jumped out of my bed,
didn't dare to drink,
thought the water in
the glass could be red;
The next morning,
I drowned myself
in stories that
painted conceit,
horror, defeat;
I shut down all of
them to open mine;
I could neither
read, nor breathe.
On and off the bed,
I knew I had to live
until I was dead.
I could nevertheless
sense a garden
somewhere, hanging
golden and silver fruits,
I screeched to myself,
'do I have to die to
reach there'
since there was silence
I cried as though I replied,
'it's so unfair, so unfair,
if I hadn't really seen
a splash of pristine
respite, how'd I imagine
it anywhere, it's unfair,
it's so unfair.'
No comments:
Post a Comment