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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
(Remember: All who share their poetry
here retain the copyright.)
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