At seven the sun that lit my world blew out
leaving me alone in mist. Through which I probed
my way to school, guessed wildly at the sums
whose marks on the board I couldn't even see.
They wanted to send me away to a special school
I refused, and coped as best I could with half
the light lost in the mist, screwing my tears
into my work, my gritted teeth. My writing-
Which crawled along and withered. Thinking thoughts at will
but none of it comes across. Even now friends ask
"How do you read that scrawl?" The fact is, I don't.
Nobody could. I guess. But how would you
like my world where parallels join,
perspectives vary of sight? Once in a shop
I walked towards a sign marked 'Gents' over
a placard and crashed to the floor
Well, it looked alright to me. Until those step stairs,
people told me of later that flattened to lines
in my half-world. The rest imagination
supplied: When you've a half line you extend it.
The lenses drag their framework down my nose.
I still can't look strangers in the face,
watching behind glass at them.
It makes me look shifty at interviews.
I wake up with a headache, chew all day
aspirins, go to bed dispirited
still with a dull ache at the back of my skull,
and sleep. Then, in my dreams, the sun comes out.
Faiza Anwer 8/25/2023 9:32:53 PM
Loved it. Keep up the great work!
AdminStan 7/27/2023 5:24:39 PM
Please check your email! Call Administrator Stan 00973 39594114