Can I stay,
My hands glued to the floor,
Breathing in the dusty rustle
Of steps
Over my head?
/
Can I sleep
When the drums start to roar
And thick voices converge
Under the ceiling
Like black crows, trapped?
/
Can I cry
Without anyone looking at me
Like I’m going to melt
And leave
A stain?
/
Can I walk
Without anyone thinking
It’s to
Or away
From them?
/
Can I ask
Of the air that I breathe
Little questions like these,
And not hope
For an answer?
/
And in the silent
World
Can I help going mad?
Can I help growing old?
Can I help
Dying?
I remember asking similar questions in my lifetime…those days when I wondered about the whole nature of the world….a most poignant poem.
I have just visited a Tibetan settlement called Bylakuppe here in India. It was at one of the monasteries that I found myself thinking about this. My thoughts should not have been this grim, however, as the place is full of light and peace!
Thank you for reading, my friend!
Merry Christmas
Thank you very much, dear Carl :)! Happy holidays!
Many questions brought to life in the poem. Better to have some fun and enjoy life I believe. Thank you for sharing the excellent poetry.
Thank you for your kind comment, John! I personally have always found that good questions and quests for answers to them can add to the enjoyment of life. Naturally, one doesn’t always like what one learns, but I’d still take an ugly truth over ignorance any day.
You are correct.
I’m glad you agree! Happy holidays!