Memoir 1

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic


The locked window behind the quiet curtain, the door without a key is closing in a creak. This room is hardly different from an empty aquarium box filled with sand. There is still a blurred panorama out there, with eye-piercing patterns, and a series of noises that suppress the skull of the head. The worst thing about this place is the one and the other, one head with another head, the cacophony of the humans inside. The dryness of the throat that feels right now is much more pleasant than talking to people. The egoism, individualism, superiority, paranoia, closed-mindedness; those are some reflections of the lives of these people, who only spend their time scraping sand and worshiping the sun naively. Does anything look wrong from the outside? No. Of course people from a distance just passed at their own pace; even if their gazes were directed this way, all that would be seen was a flat life with nothing to catch the eye. In fact, everyone here, even though they are in the same container, is lost in their own circle. In the end, these guys are just a bunch of dogs who lose their heads and growl at each other all the time. Is there a way out? Probably. Break these slats of glass, and maybe you'll be able to walk more freely, or maybe you'll be crushed by the tip of the shard of glass that tore into your body. There is no true freedom for a man. One is intertwined with the other. Although out there, there is no clear certainty whether someone who has been confined all his life is able to unite with different people. In the end, the world out there is just a stranger. Wherever a person walks his neck will remains tied to the place of his origin; and that what was told to him as something to be called "precious human relationship".

The door opened slightly, a peek directed outward. Vain as usual. Even today the room is dry and stifling again.

Submitted: November 19, 2021

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