Outside Looking Inbydemure101©
From this high prison where I have to stay
in cold half-darkness there's the brilliant view
of seething life below, of every hue –
the greens and ochres, and a sky so blue
you'd think it might blot out my constant grey.
Below, lie's course, in contours well-defined,
rolls ever past my eager, tired eyes –
in miniature I watch how life defies
the dirt and poverty, thee heat, the flies –
all I've been left to feed my hungry mind.
Both buoyant feasts and solemn joy unfold
their special strength for anyone to see;
and all the village going on a spree,
apparel wonderful, looks full of glee –
they're living; here I'm only growing old.
Since I can't talk to them I tried to shout –
my words were scattered on the breeze. Below
life just goes on; I cannot let them know
I'm up here trying to contact them, and so
I stay up at my window, looking out...
A washerwoman's at her work today.
She beats the rolls of brightly coloured lawn –
her hair is greyish and her sari's torn;
the day's hard work, though, doesn't leave her worn,
she still can find the energy to play
While I, much younger, simply feel forlorn –
Twelve hours of night, and then another dawn,
this outpost's sadness, and my captor's scorn...
Old washerwoman on the lake, I pray
please help me out – wash my grey life away.