Open

Open sesame

In this house, I’m in a black room
I can’t see, so I find a space
my hands feel it’s not a sliding window
deep inside, I pray it is a louvered door

In this house, the ceiling is low
I don’t feel air passing by
my fear strangles me by the neck
it feels hard to swallow my gut.

in this house, I feel I’m hanging
holding a rafter, holding my lime faith
if I’m hanging, then the ground is open
wake up from your dream, please wake up.

Ruddapoet