Painting by Dorina Costras
She found a public restroom
and cried in front of the mirror,
trying to understand that little man
from the embassy:
'Yes, the visa may be denied.
Are you going to be a prostitute there?"
She can't remember how long
she hid herself in that shelter.
It was like paradise.
She didn't even notice the dirty walls
and stained yellow tiles.
Everything is perfect when you are
looking inside.
She just wanted to travel and study
but her father's income was like
a label, denouncing something
which was not written;
"Was the document saying
I would be a w****?"
She stayed in that cosy atmosphere,
feeling protected.
A public restroom warmed her,
bringing life back again.
A beggar came into and asked;
"Why are you crying?"
"Oh! Nothing really..."
"Thought you had been robbed"
That poor lady resurrected her
after her crucification.
She looked in the mirror
and realised her hair was longer.
Sometimes when she visits the past,
she feels she left a part of her in
that public restroom.
Her naivety and gullibility are
in a rusty red wastebin near the sink.
She threw them away there forever.
and cried in front of the mirror,
trying to understand that little man
from the embassy:
'Yes, the visa may be denied.
Are you going to be a prostitute there?"
She can't remember how long
she hid herself in that shelter.
It was like paradise.
She didn't even notice the dirty walls
and stained yellow tiles.
Everything is perfect when you are
looking inside.
She just wanted to travel and study
but her father's income was like
a label, denouncing something
which was not written;
"Was the document saying
I would be a w****?"
She stayed in that cosy atmosphere,
feeling protected.
A public restroom warmed her,
bringing life back again.
A beggar came into and asked;
"Why are you crying?"
"Oh! Nothing really..."
"Thought you had been robbed"
That poor lady resurrected her
after her crucification.
She looked in the mirror
and realised her hair was longer.
Sometimes when she visits the past,
she feels she left a part of her in
that public restroom.
Her naivety and gullibility are
in a rusty red wastebin near the sink.
She threw them away there forever.
Karla Bardanza
Copyright©Karla Bardanza 2012
You write about people who still have dignity. You give dignity back to those robbed of it. Your writing speaks for those without a voice. I love this poem! Blessings!
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