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