Dangling a foot across perilous paths
In and out of inner, outer worlds
I learn to hold no hands
Hands full, shield the pouring rain
Let dreams fly, unfulfilled, fulfilled
No Miltonic visions
No grand master narratives
No Booker, orange prize baits
Neither Kafka's withdrawal
nor Balzac's flamboyance
I write of and in solitude
Just as I step over a half turned stone
Just as human company is company enough
I learn to seek company
In a familiar shadow
'No', not
behind lonely feet
Just within 'Me' as I write.
Don't know why...but something about this poem reminds me of the way someone is...a quiet confidence, a comfortable self that sometimes can be mistaken for shyness or reserved self. someone who speaks less because she sees more. A Strange mixture...sensitive and tough. Nice read.
ReplyDeleteThey say it is better to keep silent and be thought an idiot than to speak and prove to be one.
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