White Walls
dreary me
as the night stretches on
like a shadow cast on a wall
that grows with each drop of candle wax,
that i should wish to be buried.
six feet under or seven hundred feet above
to me it does not matter so much
as long as i am but an observer--
bound in thorny vines with roses as my feet
eyes but omniscient onto the world,
not here or there but just staring
at a white wall
metaphorically or not
i have always felt either comforted
or haunted by them.
sometimes i look upon them
heavenly and cloudy
and plain and attentive,
looking as though they would listen to whatever
i so projected upon them.
but other times their blank glaze haunts me
follows me
reminds me of how i am inside--
these white walls so bitter
and blank--
uncaring, reminding me of salt that stings my open wounds.
i could sit and cry for hours in their midst
and there they stay,
unperturbed for eons until they slowly sink
back into the dirt from which mankind came.
and i feel like they haunt me so much,
because they remind me of what i fear most:
solitude,
for i know what lies ahead of me underground:
solitude.
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Comments
Wow GINA!!......haven't read you for a while..........been missing out huh?.........because this is an excellent write...........the stream of consciousness is tight.........VERY sad & depressing........in a most artistic delivery..........great flow here.......combined with some fantastic phrasing..........reminds me a bit of VERY early Sylvia Plath!!............well done sister-girl!!...........7*s FAV ......smokin' grooves!!..........Love and Rockets!!.............T xo
thank you so much !!
Honorable Poetess Gina Marie,
Thanks for your resumption to COSMO, dear Poetess Gina Marie, I love the below lines:
wish to translate your poem with your kind permission to my mother tongue, Malayalam
Most of us consider in the afterlife. We tend to believe that our souls will make it to the best of all worlds one way or another. That is probably true though opinions on the subject vary. People are less inquisitive about the way of the mortal remains, on the face of it, the mortal remains are undoubtedly perishable.
My applause, my vote
Regards
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
thank you so much! what beautiful words, and such the afterlife is so prevalent in poetry and literature and yet i never tire of reading about it, as there are so many possibilities and points of view they really make you wonder.
Good flow to a poem that grabs your attention and does not let go ! Thanks for sharing !
thank you!
:)