There is a knock on the door,
I can see the latch open,
But it was not me
Who let them in,
It was not me
Who let them in.
I hear the water running,
I can see the taps open,
But it was not me
Who turned them on,
It was not me
Who turned them on.
The candles burning bright,
The melancholy mournful sighs,
The mascara on my lashes,
It was they who let them in.
I look into the mirror,
I am wearing a disguise,
But it was not me
Who put it on,
But it was not me
Who put it on.
I feel my cheeks wet,
I see tears running down,
But it was not me
Who was crying.
But it was not me
Who was crying.
The owls hoot in the night,
Shadows dance in delight,
My blood chills in my veins,
It was they who let them in.
my shadow mourn for my body RJHHTKHG
I liked this soliloquy. Very few of us have the time for such dialogues with ourselves. Lord Krishana also says so in Gita: The Bhagvad Gita says: (This being is neither pierced by the weapons, nor burnt by the fire, nor made damp by the water, nor dried up by the wind.)
A great metaphysical poem that will for ever live in poetic history.
I like the menace in this......and the repetition.... One to many 'who's' in the first stanza? Rx
Mystery and a hint of menace weave in and out of this fascinating poem about self and other and choice and control. The poem works beautifully with its sing-song repetition and its lyrical phrasing. Fine work, Reshma. love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
we wish to sing... The candles burning bright, The melancholy mournful sighs, The mascara on my lashes, It was they who let them in.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
wonderful! keep writing!