The Wall

Shallow indeed the smile we draw,

for what's inside the face can't show.

As a mute play life keeps its motion

pensively viewed by the deepest portion–

when the self withdraws to a safe place

watching the show from a crystal space.

Solid and cold is the sealing wall

re-installed when the grief befalls.

Nothing gets in nor does it come out.

Sound can't be heard however it's loud.

Solely gloom is the binding rule

drowning the core in a burning pool.

Death is sought to stop this war,

but who can trust what one plans for?

So, what consoles the fed up soul,

who carries its hell wherever it goes?

Who can outstretch a helping hand?

Who can just reach this hopeless land?

Yet, who really cares of whom all strands?

None save Him, the final Goal,

Who can grant laugh or sore tear-fall.

He, alone, does touch the inmost thought.

Should He not know what He has brought?

So, fear no more the despair's wall,

since He can hole the way out door!

Never does He fail the one who calls.

Salma

29/3/2005