caged

Blue-toned photo of ginger cat looking through iron railings

Today I’m posting another old poem, this time prompted by a cat – triste y azul** – who seemed to think he was in a cage:

Workspace

How can I write,
caged in by walls,
smothered by cushions
and draped curtains?
Even my balcony is barred
like a prison cell.

Outside in the street
the trees grow tall
reaching towards the sky;
the swallows circle
high above the roofs:
I see the setting sun shine
through their tail feathers.

If thoughts could free me,
if words could carry me aloft,
I would follow them:

Treetop,

             rooftop,

                         stars…

In my room
I have placed two mirrors
opposite each other.
Between four walls
I have caught
a fragment of infinity.

 
 
** And a nostalgic video for the Spanish readers. (No me responsabilizo por la ortografía.)

Author: don't confuse the narrator

Exploring the boundary between writer and narrator through first person poetry, prose and opinion

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