Getting There Poem by Ragy Sandid

In fascination with skirts and sizes
Life now holds no surprises
My shadow showed me bigger things
It dwindles next to what real life brings

The colored images are of the past
Thought once they were kept to last
The trick is to tell the clown from art
What’s in the head, what’s in the heart

Grey is the color of silver, so it seems
So again were such stuff made of dreams
The line is one and must be followed
One taste and it must be swallowed

Thanks to the outlook, thanks to the hope
These were the things that made me cope
Now I touch the melon, and softly it crushes
Though there, gone are the colors of blushes

I am yours and your are mine but out of reach
I wonder what kind of things our children teach
They seem to know so much in such little time
If they hold on to it, like me, or let go, like me,
That would be the shameful crime.