Today I felt like Sylvia Plath.
The triteness of the present took my breath away.
Indifferent faces, hurrying, jostling on this anonymous street
My thoughts were fractal, I stood alone
Unable to keep up with those hurrying feet.
Why does life go on this way.
Where do people go to, these hustling crowds?
Where do I go to when I am alone?
I've no gifts of repartee; no, not even enough sense
Not to handle hot coals. All my life I've fought
And rebelled...and often lost.
In this twilight world, things are left undone.
In this silent world my brain fumbles and tries
To write, to form, reform and conform.
Thus, shutting out the present, drawing the blinds
I write these lines, trite, but I tried
Today I felt like Sylvia Plath.
Copyright: Rani Turton
You write like Rani Turton beautiful poet in her own right big 10+++ Chris
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I echo Christopher's words and say, yes you write so beautifully. We do not have to attach to the present moment, so we are lucky.