After they all leave, I remain alone with poems — some poems of mine, some of others. I prefer poems that others have written. I remain quiet, and slowly the knot in my throat dissolves. I remain.
Sometimes I wish everyone would go away. Maybe it’s nice, after all, to write poems. You sit in your room and the walls grow taller. Colors deepen — a blue handkerchief becomes a deep well. You don’t know what’s the matter with you. Perhaps you’ll think of something — destiny and the future. You wish everyone would go away.
I fear what I don’t know. I tried to figure things out, except each step appears new. Separation is built, instead of building up each other; it’s not hard to see that we as humans are one. Until this madness stops, we won’t move any further.
You sit, alone; your heart aches but it won’t break. The faded images wash away one by one. You have infinite treasures. Surely you remember.
Disclaimer: The views in this article are those of the author. Prison Journalism Project has verified the writer’s identity and basic facts such as the names of institutions mentioned.