A room without windows
and a single dim light
a door that stays closed
locked day and night.
Why would I leave
when I have all I need:
a molding mattress
tattered bed sheets
bread that’s gone stale
but still safe to eat
water that drips
from a ceiling that leaks
books with blank pages
that I love to read.
The floor gives me splinters
through holes in my shoes
but I don’t feel injured
I think I used to.
I walk in circles
inside my square room.
Sometimes I wonder
if I should go through
the door in the wall
I painted fake blue.
I sit in an armchair
that’s missing its arms.
I sit and I stare
at the room I prepared.
Wood and chipped paint
a splintering floor.
Why do I stay
on this side of the door?
The door.
The door.
I’m forcing it open!
A world is unfolding
a new world I’ve chosen.
Flowers and sunshine
the sound of birds singing
simple beauties
that make life worth living.
I’m closing the door
I’m standing outside.
I’ll lock it once more
and go live my life.
We all reach times in life when we stop, take a look around, and wonder, “what am I doing here?” We start to see things that should have been obvious, whether they’re damaging habits, pointless endeavors, or something else entirely.
In the poem, the fact that the narrator’s circumstances are unhealthy is obvious to the reader. As we read, we can see that they won’t live long in their square room. It’s often more difficult to see these rooms in our own lives, especially when we build them slowly and in the hopes of protecting ourselves. We justify them, believing we’re safer inside. Even when we do acknowledge our surroundings, it takes courage to open the door and step into an unknown world.
The truth is that the world beyond our shabby rooms is beautiful and has much to offer. Once we step out and experience it, there’s a good chance we won’t want to go back to our square musty room. We’ll move forward and become a part of a living, breathing, beautiful world. Moving forward isn’t easy—change rarely is—but it is worth pursuing, even if it takes a while to realize and admit it.
Hope Mixes
—The Translator
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