tabula rasa
empty soul.
feelings are foreign clothes
worn by others
looking like clowns.
pregnant wife,falling on ice
afraid of you, a frozen heart
pregnant wife, dreaming of an escape:
a kind knight
a kind mother,
nowhere to be found.
pregnant wife, yearning for love.
and you, rigid, cold, scared too
in your well walled, untouchable world.
first,
your mother had the right
to scribble on tabula rasa
no kisses,no touching, just words...
your first wife, frozen too
by your unbending touch.
your second wife, the mother,
tried a love song, before
she was drowned in loneliness
and long nights of no touch
the mother filled the void
with dos and don'ts
and all the nonsense
of her wars.
the third wife, now holding the pen
writing your life,
like she wants, you claiming out
it is coming from your heart.
like a fool,
a lost soul
travelling the midnight train
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