Give me a secret
But one light to bear.
I can’t give you mine
Mine’s not to share.

Mine has iron shafts
With their tip bent.
There’s a man so familiar
My head can’t pretend.

There’s a girl
She’s sobbing
Children shouldn’t cry
Everyone can hear her
But the deaf only sigh.

There are windows
But the day is blind, you see.
People with no faces
Shadows that morph into glee.

Give me a secret
But one light to bear.
Mine have chains
dusty webs and a lair.

I’ve banged on doors
Shook the grills and implored
I can hear distant conversations
But doors aren’t doors.
They are chasms you know,
Deep pits filled with gore.

Don’t hold my secrets
They aren’t but mine to hold.
A lifetime of grief
Of hurt untold.

~ (c) Vinitha, April 30,
Thirty days of writing poetry