Torn and tattered
crumpled into a ball
thrown into a corner,
just like the few remnants
of my pride,
curled up
foetus like
alone
hands over ears
trying to shut out
the deafening sounds of
fully audible fears,
trying to ease myself
into a friendly darkness,
but it eludes me,
despair has shattered the windowpanes
of my fragile house of dreams,
splashed blood upon its pristine white walls,
mutilated the flowers lining
the yellow bright pathway,
leading up to the welcoming
door,
dreams lie bleeding
life flowing out like a dying river
my eyes
still shut,
but my tears escape the prison
of a fondly dreamt future,
and still
I breathe
and continue
to live, wondering why
death
does not visit my once charming
little house
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
and still I breathe and continue to live, wondering why death does not visit my once charming little house Beautiful poem. Thanks for sharing.