I have seen the threshold, yet choose to climb
over cobwebs, far from the furnace
and the cold room filled with dirty jars
While a stain spreads over mended lace,
I step past this land-mine space,
above the reach of that dreadful light,
above my newest battle scar
The dark has dissolving layers
that only a few are quick enough to peel,
even underground, its creases unfold
swiftly, revealing growth,
beautiful, though broken and bare,
yet leaving just a trace of me, here and there
A secret scurries in this lair,
below my naked feet
or is it walking down the stairs
with an apology, soft and rare,
oh, so rare
Please, I'd rather stay high and dry
in the odd care of night
with my newfound brave
behind this lie of white
*I consider this free-rhyme.
Also, the subject of Stephanie Deshpande's art is her daughter, who she loves deeply
and is her inspiration and personal muse.
My poem is a work of fiction, though comes from personal experience, inspired by
Stephanie Deshpande's work.
NOW, you try it!