The Door

The wooden door faded by sun,
rotten by worms, covered by moss,
held strong by the hinges and locked by the bolt.

The growing ivy hides,
the arranged pots distract,
but the worn out stones reveal.

No one dared to open it.
No one walked the path.
No one knows where the door leads..

I
The door opens
into an archway,
overgrown with flowers,
leading me to a fountain,
to quench my thirst for knowledge.

II

The door opens

into a secluded park,

with a worn out bench,

for me to sit and think about life.

III
The door opens
onto an empty beach,
where I stand staring into the infinity,
as the waves touch my feet.









IV
The door opens
leading to a brook,
urging me to follow it,
and reach a new world.




Paintings by Mrs Ratna Pochiraju