For a Remnant Door

There is no place in the universe Without doors. Even the earth needs doors. A door opens to mornings. A door lets us out under high-noon sun. A door welcomes us back to sunset. And then all doors close, Swallowing darkness, Only to open for dreams. But we without dreams, Lost in slavery, Without self and belongingness, where Once, we dwelt among gods and goddesses; Where our ancient wisdom, With its tail in its mouth, Blessed us with language of honeybees In our songs, like eyelashes of seasons Opening to prosperous dawns, When gold, silver and laughters, Were conceived in our rice fields. Now we are poisoned with Illicit obscurity, and bared to nothingness, Neither do we have what we had, Nor we understand who we were. All doors are closed, Except the whining windows Of counterfeit patriots, A noise I am truly wearied of. We pretend to be ourselves In someone else's shoes, Worshiping strange gods With illegible prayers. I grope along the walls To find an opening to the world Of soil and patient roots, And emerge to show myself As a shadow of what we belonged to, Across a threshold I can call my remnant door.