Songs of Anisha
“Privacy,”
by Abigail George
There are so many rooms in this house
To lose oneself in, that captures poetry,
There are no ghosts in my imagination –
Of what came before, secrecy and flight,
Only the magnificent ether; only beauty.
I try to conjure up only that not hate or spite.
People want to be near success but that
Is not the prerogative of the insomniac?
Stirring, mysterious, angelic mystic, private
Revealing ingénue, mindful or suspect of
Missing the war zones, white teeth,
Like smoke, their power evaporates.
Always skating along the periphery, losing
One’s memory over daily trivial issues
What does my everyday life offer me?
A life to live, dreamy sensuality, privilege,
Waste, decay, upheaval, a mind, a voice to
Express my innermost feelings and thoughts,
A vague otherworldliness, an air of grace in
A struggle against the unconventional, defeat,
A unique freedom of expression, a fleeting
Edginess, a lingering insecurity, a compelling
Visceral identity, a temporary, intense, wild
Non-descriptive parallel world of privacy.
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