and now I am in need of a loan
A self I am not,
A self I can look to.
He is an ever fixed croak,
He rests not till his bones are picked,
I tempted with the forbidden,
And the lady is missing from the pantry of mysteries.
Taboo is the potion I must drink for my portion,
Ridicule is the sauce of the meal I must scoff down.
He is in the meantime camouflaged by the
Tides in my tummy.
Sniggering at my every spin of pain
What is the Key?
Where is it hidden?
So I can unlock the door, so tightly shut
…With a face so so narrow and dark.
Ahead awaits the light…
In the meantime,
I search my head for the sense of meaning
So I can face this…
I search my heart for the palm of bravery
To carry me through…
Maybe I will find the alchemist who will turn
Poison into powders of gold,
Scoff into praises and
Reflection into warm light…
…and in the midst of it all
Hopefully I will be able to wrench my feet out of the mud…
And escape from his grip…
Landing into the room of dreams baked at home…
Ps: what is abnormal, I did what is taboo…how strange the face of ModernDay notions; that a women fights convention…with no manual to guide her through…
Zhamour Monday March2, 2009