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A Wooden Door, a Metal Key

A plain wooden door, nerve-ridden

A carved metal key, in my pocket hidden.

And secrets that lie behind that blank facade

A building, some windows, my dreams.

 

I wandered on those blind Parisian streets.

Nobody knew my name

Nobody knew where I came from

I was different, yet still the same.

 

A wooden door like corpus callosum

Holds my two worlds together

I enter now, I walk out at midnight, I flee

The buzzing and the hum.


copyright: Rani Turton


 

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Rani Turton's next poem is the affecting My Father, With His Arthritic Hands.