SHELVES

Borrowed time, borrowed space,
Even this body deemed mis-placed.
No right, no fights,
Tears seem the only base.
Always afraid,
So afraid to speak.
The mind now believes thoughts are but flashes from a dream.


Afraid of what? The warrior asks.
Afraid of the world, the soul remarks.
Afraid to speak on it’s own behalf.
What numbs this mind, some might think-
Oblivious as her world sinks
Un-canny resemblance at arms length
Creepers crawl, within-without,
Leaves her drowning in shadows of doubt.


Outbursts too, like broken flames.
Outwards fierce, but inside tame.
Clouds forming within,
Dousing flames, chances slim.
Left alone, it curls within.
Licking walls bereft of self,
The ashes fall-
Book cases forming apt shelves.