The door

The Door

One passage leads
to another
Each narrow –
with cramping thoughts
Finally,
a wide, wide passage
Its walls stabbed by time
make faces at me
as they whisper
the histories of those
who have walked here before.

The passage –
its niches naked,
its air heavy
with dreams gone stale

Self-doubt stalks me.
How will the passage end?
Will I make it to the end?
Then I discern a door
in the far distance
Its precise form and colour
unclear

Excitement quickens my steps
Then fear numbs them
The door, the door
Have to get there,
have to get there
I chant the mantra

I am there
with dreamlike swiftness

A door in solid wood
Painted a sprightly green
where sun-yellow spots
sport unchecked
What joy!

I sit near it,
afraid to touch it,
push it open
The door looks jammed
Is it?
My mood darkens
I spray the door
a gruesome grey
with fears and
negative thoughts
I sink and sink
into hopeless stupor

Then, an inner voice,
low yet clear
rouses me
I listen

I slam the door shut
within me
that leads to the arid space
of stifling self-doubt
And, with a firm hand
open the green door
to a world that knows
how to renew itself,
and guards this secret,
for those who seek it,
with zealous alacrity