The days become a giant clock and I,
its moving hand, marking the hour
remembering the time, the same as
what is gone, the same
as what is to come. Days, hours
minutes fold into each other
indistinguishable. Perhaps, it is
all a trick of the mind – the walls
preserve life, the walls take away
life. Outside is as far as an arm stretched out
of the window, so within reach, so out of reach
are all those things I took for granted
in my solitude, everything has meaning
and everything means nothing.
Life seems a dream –
Am I awake or am I sleeping?