silent as the inside of a turtles shell
lost on an island, washed by no wave
the question is how to swim back
when you’re cut off, alone and adrift
you might think its lonely,
you could say that it is,
but if it was wouldn’t I speak
not sit here sadly quietly withdrawn
don’t reach your hand inside my armour
i have waited far too long to be touched
nothing’s within todays carapace
you won’t find me there, so try not to look
Old shell
Empty shell covered with wrinkles
Pearl shine brushed away by winds and tears.
Drops of memories dried by layers of sand.
Sad eyes looking blindly over my shoulders.
I stop and stretch one arm forward.
Touching the white unnourished locks.
Sudden rush of images inside dead eyes.
A smile between the drapes looks surreal.
Little sound comes out of the bottomless cavern.
Fragile like the fairies wings
Sparkling like children voices on the snow.
Just one smile, filled with tender memories.
Short.
Gone.
Silence is back inside the empty shell.
(This was written by Tamara, not me – having seen, through a window, an old woman out in the winter street)
The Dreaming Path 