The Caged
I see wood, finely wrought carvings,
Curling and creeping up to the ceiling.
What sort of bars are these?
And navy cloaks on chequered glass,
Hang a honeyed warmth across each pane.
A lucent inch from forbidden world.
All have their eyes on me, one wears
Pearls, one in sweater and sari, one hides in an animal's skin.
And who is captive, who is free?
Is this prison, or paradise?
Copyright © Annabelle Jane | Year Posted 2011
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