To the Psychriatist

 

To the psychiatrist

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Tell her who is resting on your couch,

A cliché we live

Spread amid the movements of planets,

Satellites and stars.

A cliché to live on and on, long

Without solution.

Her ear never hears such chants of days.

Trivial days of life.

 

There is a lonely road of cold dirt

Somewhere in our heart.

Somewhere a single bud of white flower

Held in a lean hand

Of a boy who sells mundane flowers

To foreign tourists.

Doctor, send her a life with hands

Of friends still to be

Lost in oblivion of fences and

Cartographer’s dreams.

 

 

Reviews

[Lorraine Pearson]

"Tell her who is resting on your couch,
A clich� we live
Spread amid the movements of planets,
Satellites and stars."

These opening lines grabbed me immediately. I really enjoyed this piece. What a creative idea...telling the psychiatrist what to tell someone in for treatment! I appreciated the second half tremendously...it sings of hope in the face of reality. Nice piece!
~Lorraiyne

[W.k.kortas]

As prior reviewers of your work have noted, that fact that English is not your first language makes your work somewhat challenging to read on the most literal level, but it also provides an advantage in that your work has an oblique, indirect feel to it which is usually part of its greatest appeal. This seems to be built around the interplay between our insignificance in the greater scheme of things--cf. the references to "planets/Satellites, and stars"-- and the manner we create meaning in the everyday and accesible (e.g., "a single bud of white flower", " a lean hand/Of a boy"). This is well-executed and highly literate work.

[Midnightshadow]

cool! i really like this poem.. it speak of something i can understand at that deeper weirder level :) well done it's a good piece ^_^