Figures still around me.
Nature in its element, but frozen,
Paralysed by the shock of the flash
I touch the birds, stroke the tree trunks and
Tread across the grass and dead leaves...
But everything feels like paper.
It's so lonely here.
And what makes the loneliness worse is that tantalising
Proximity of life and company.
Here there is no warmth; here numb indifference reigns.
But around me, encapsulated in the faces,
Radiating from the symbols of the lives breathed that day
Pure, unadulterated feeling.
I am the living one, but I feel dead;
I am the moving one, but I feel stiff.
Time has frozen and the world in the photo is
But I have been placed here
And given my own Time.
I have no one to share this with.
The photo is my prison.
What a hateful life this is.