The Door

The door was open,

Dividing the light and the darkness,

The comfort of the familiar zones,

and the mystery of unknowns.

Yes, I got the chance to fly.

But I loved the smelly sweat of the crowded room,

and the tales of valour and deception.

I loved to sleep in my grandmother’s grave.

Her stories were so sweet, so ancient.

And I saw, those taking wings,

flying to an unknown sky.

And sometimes they returned,

with stars in their beaks,

to light up the dark room.

In the dark room,

among the bundles of wasted life,

we just sleep and sleep.