tabula rasa

So here’s another sonnet, a sequel to the last one (I’ve decided to use my chronic insomnia for creative ends). I still haven’t said all I want, so you can expect another one on the theme soon, I’m sure.



 Tabula Rasa

The cracked red clay like long abandoned tile

Complains and crumbles ‘neath her worn-out feet—

The sun’s own kiln, this once lush, palm-brushed mile.

She can’t reckon the times she’s walked this street

To haggle over cloth or fresh produce;

She can’t tally the times she stood right here

To laugh with friends and drink sweet mango juice

While husbands argued over law. And near

This bustling street her home once beckoned guests.

And in her dreams she sees its cheerful gate,

The arbor where two weddings once were blessed,

The threshold where it’d all disintegrate.


And standing silent in the street alone,

She feels a raindrop wet her cheek of stone.



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