Our sliding existence

I think it is the shadow of a sound
It seems to be so real
I'm in the prison of my mind
I think I hear the rude rain-drops
Shrieking on the asphalt,
It seems to be only the eaves drip
Or maybe the clatter of hoof-clipped stones
And scrape of gravel down.
I saw a light, I think it is a thunder light
It's seems to be only an electrical explosion
I open the window and I see everything unclear outside
I think it is the smoke from a burning building
It seems to be only fog in the air
I think you hair smells like imperial lily flowers
It seems that the lily blooms
So beautifully in the cup when steeped
In front of our window
I'm in the prison of my mind
In our sliding existence

poem by Marieta Maglas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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