Thursday, February 12, 2009

A Refugee's Pain

Habits die hard.
I draw the curtains-
Thick , floral,
So that light does not seep .
And murmur.
Afraid to talk loudly.
My body is here,
But my soul was shattered,
The day I held,
My neighbor's bloody innards.
Hysterical was not enough,
As into the abyss I was led.
Today I am a refugee,
freed from my past, I walk ,
And talk and enjoy life's peace.
But something in me froze that day.
Does that mean,
I am less of a human,
Or more of a human,
Or only shell shocked?

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Saw a movie or what?
Such violent poetries from a gentle cousin??
Nevertheless-eloquent

Famit said...

Thank you.voyeurism into peoples' lives..I start my musing from there.