Marieta Maglas is a co-author in some anthologies published by Ardus Publications, Sybaritic Press, Prolific Press, and Silver Birch Press.
She looks like being
almost buried,
but she doesn't lose
any hope while
continuing to pray. No,
her prayers are not
simple at all,
especially when the bells ring
for everything that can rise
and don't rise, but sinks.
A scream may mean
a disembodying head
or may mean
a nightmare.
Sometimes, people
really have nothing
to be thankful for.
Other time, life
is an illusion or
a mask of an ego
to roll it down
into the abyss.
She thinks she has enough.
She is thankful to God
for her life looking like
an empty glass.
An empty glass is not a revolver
to shoot someone in the head,
but it can still be a weapon.
Maybe she wants
an ending,
not to be saved.
Maybe she still wills to think
and to express
her ideas. In the still
air, she is involved
in this mental process of
understanding
the senselessness
of her human
condition.
She cannot understand anything
while being blocked in between
disappearing things.
However, it seems that
she is happy,
but she is afraid
either of losing herself,
either of her metamorphosis.
The return into her inner hole
is a crawl,
not at resignation,
and maybe a laugh.
She has a cloud
above her head
standing on
the verge of lightning.
Maybe she needs
a holy thinking,
but she thinks her questions
don't have answers.
Maybe she doesn't
really need
those answers.
She can pray,
but never during sleep.
Maybe an interminable sleeping
is a gift or not.
Maybe this kind of sleep is
a haven to wake up in Heaven.
Why do the people need to think?
Many times, she
uses failing words,
those words that empty out
their meaning
to become paradoxes
in that inhabited meaninglessness
where God is not present.
When is a word considered lost?
Maybe she doesn't really need
to be happy.
Poem by Marieta Maglas
The Path of Life
my photo
