Show me the stage
I’ll give you my play
Give me your players
I shall flurry them with new words
You don’t have to look out of the window
Can’t you hear the key turning on your creaky door?
Your room is moist with old grimy tales
Your furniture sits with a Medusa smile
Let me clear the air and your wooden gaze
The street outside is dusty
But there’s light all along the way
Can’t you see there’s a full moon shining?
Give me your hand
And I’ll lead you to the cascade of liberty
There’s nothing behind left to shelter
Go shed your blue disguise and smile
For the time has come to let you run
Away from the cover of your desolate row!
8 comments:
Very mysterious. You have a lovely way with words.
Lynn: Thank you. Your comments are always encouraging.
Shyamanga, what a beautiful poem - sad, yet full of the hope of change and freedom.
I especially enjoyed the middle stanza and these lines:
"Your room is moist with old grimy tales
Your furniture sits with a Medusa smile
Let me clear the air and your wooden gaze" are wonderful.
Lynn told me you are a great poet and she is right. :)
Talon: Feels great to know you liked it. Thank you.
Lynn has always been very encouraging. I feel flattered. Thanks.
It's great! and good change of mood :)..have (had to) read it multiple times and each time got glimpse of something new.
Krantik: Thanks a lot bro! Everyone's encouraging comments have changed my mood too.
Now that the key has turned,
Let me creak,
If only to remind you
To push me open every once in a while!
And as the curtain falls,
The play will continue.
For, it was never meant to be otherwise.
Anil: That's simply beautiful! Thank you.
Yes, the door is now open
The act is on, silently
All you have to do is listen
Listen to feel life's long song...
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