No matter where you hide

whichever country you decide to set up camp

they find a way to your doorstep.

Just when you thought it was all right to draw the blinds,

to open the windows

to breathe in and feel the ray of sun on your face




You’re nose-to-nose with the ghosts of the past

alongside the beadles of regret,


disappointment and


Mine never strays far from me – they’re like long lost friends

making themselves at home in my soul.

Not too heavy,

not too light

just this steady weight inside;

not too big

not to small either

just right to quiet the verve within;

not too noisy,

not too silent

just a muted presence – not even a word for idle banter.

They daub the emotional landscape in stark grey, black and white,

eclipsing the postcard-perfect spring scenery.

They clamber up the walls made to stay the hurting,

scurrying towards the golden box neatly wrapped in black.

Without ceremony or qualms,

they release the long buried secret pains.

They loom in ethereal clearness upon her fuzzy vision –

the two smiling devil-angels who left her raw and empty.


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