Writings Poetry

Deliverance

I walk on cold, tiled white floor
Listening to the chatter of shadows and more
I lean on the hard white chair with nervousness
I look around slowly, feigning weariness.

The bird glides and hits the window
Red blood spattering! For all I know—
A grumbling noise comes not from my mouth
“Salvation will come,” this I doubt.

Yellow white blocks stacked against each other
Pairs of black balls rolling together
As the ceiling falls down to the dreamer,
The floor rises up to the believer.

One by one—the process is slow
The door to salvation is extremely narrow
I kiss my knuckles and bow down to the earth
An empty wish I make, for what it’s worth.