Sit in silence with me.
Your world isn't my world.
Sitting on the sofa is my world.
My tea, sat on its coaster,
is my world.
A dredge of voices
keeps me silent and
a fear of hearing torn words
stretches my understanding.
I am pregnant with inertia.
My birthing has no due date
and I experience no feelings of growth,
just a barren, melancholic contour surrounding me.
I am comfortable in smelling
only me. Tasting only my lips.
Touching only my body.
Belonging, only to me.
If my world is cold,
I can't feel it.
If it is bitter,
I can't taste it.
My world is isolated,
yet I can touch it.
And noiseless,
yet I can hear it.
But, the door on the house across the street,
is coloured in a warmth and hope
that I shall never experience
and a love that I shall never feel.
I wonder, what do my windows
give to the world?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The poem is something, i really enjoyed how you share the expression of isolation...the sound is just perfect for the poem, leave me lost in echoes, thought and feeling..it is a beautiful poem and i say this because i can feel when i read it :) It is a beautiful work..Thumbs up