No use kicking the walls of the prison
Scratching your throat with loud cries of anger,
History yawns at noisy displays of despair
What if I lost a pair of bruised feet
at the threshold to oblivion?
Or your scream echoed for two whole seconds in the hollow chamber?
Hold my hand
Hold my hand…and look!
Look, how I grow silently into a giant palm tree
Bursting my hot humid greenhouse open
To sip the fresh cool vibrating blue
And stand on the edge of this open field
With endless possibilities of whispering in the wind.
Then, come closer
Push the doors of my solitude open
Take a long look at me
In this happy, delirious, talkative state
And tell me I am not dreaming.
July 24, 2000