Lightening that mocks the night,
Brief even as bright…
PB Shelly, Mutability
Her questions stripped off, one by one, the faces I was wearing, and here I was facing the reflection. "Damn it!" I screamed, frightened by the sight of real me, perhaps first time after decades. The escapist, in hibernation, who has forgotten how to stand the rays of the summer sun.
I have been here before,
But when or how I can not tell:
I know the gross beyond the door,
The sweet keen smell,
Yes, but I never bothered to peep into, beyond the reach of the sunrays. I never thought there can be so much of darkness hiding in each and every corner of the rusted inside.
I sat in my cold stone room
Choosing tough words, granite, flint,
to break the ice.
Demeter, Carol Ann Duffy
Now, I am sitting with the old rusted tool box. As the keys have denied moving inside the lock, I have to hammer it down...to dismantle each and every part of the face I am wearing now, dust and rinse inside and reassemble it again. I have the tough task of proving that I care for what she cares...
memory has no body but me.
The Host, Roy Fisher