In my prison, which is our prison, we meet.
In a tomb filled with life, we make small talk.
We walk, and we talk; never rest our weary feet.
We each thing each other the prisoner here.
He, because he put me in this terrible hell,
I because a cell implies a jailer here.
The jailer holds me in, himself as well.
We are prisoners of each other's dreams.
We glean nothing from our doggerel.
Words. Words. Babble. We weigh them on scales,
Toss them slowly to each other warily, waiting
Hoping the other bites, says the wrong thing - fails.
It costs him, to hold me here. He, flying free
Thinking of me, trapped: Holding himself down
Under the ground: In his clear gaze, this I see.
Already we exchange places inside, as if fate
Was guiding me, tired hands offering me the crown
Will pretend surprise when I say: "Check mate."
No comments:
Post a Comment