Arine M..


Dreamers

They, all, are occupants of bare greyness fashioned into empty cells, doorless cubes,
Do they know? - where windows are all they can cling on to
And through grimy glass and scanty light, breath held,
Behold! The world out and beyond! - coloured and alive, sang to them
They caught a glimpse of everything,
Everything that was not everything for it was but a glimpse
Cornered by the angles of the slit of their perceptions
They saw, they heard, it called, it sang, they dreamt, they soared

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