Posted in Poetry

the door of perceptions

My cat sits in front of the door
Like an ancient statue of Basset
And looks at me with desire
To break the spell of the moment.

In the high night
When the only light
is iridescent emerald beams
from his large green eyes,

I open the door
He believes to be
The door of perceptions
When there is only darkness.

But he roams in eager eyes
With a lamp of his cat’s eyes
Searching for the wonder
With neverending hopes.

Alas, my elderly mother stops
His hopeful night’s adventure!
Still yearning, ever curious
My cat tries it always tomorrows!

Author:

I write stuff of my interest that does not interest anyone in my blog. No grammarians, no copy editors, no marketers, no cynics are welcome.

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