Door

Beating against a door that
will not open,
a portal to the other side,
where gardens are watered
with moondance and wine
and truth blossoms like roses,
heady and coloured by sunsets,
again and again, 
pounding the door with tears and cries and
fists that bleed,

and yet when I wake, I stand
on the other side,
holding shut the door that
will not open,
pounded by fears and lies
and fists that drip
with wine,
bloody and coloured by sunsets,
again and again.

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35 thoughts on “Door

  1. If only we could hold the door shut indefinitely, holding out the terror and lies. If only we learned the way to empowerment. You see, we know what is possible! Always. I feel a sharp heart pain, so moved.

    Like

  2. Interesting how we are trying to open the same doors that we also hold close from the other side.
    I’d like to go where
    “where gardens are watered
    with moondance and wine”

    Like

  3. Yes, the oft paradox of the hope of fulfilled dreams and the (sometimes) awful reality of when they are realised.
    As always, a wonderful write Rajani.
    Anna :o]

    Like

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