by Siddiq Islam

Inside the trunk of every tree,
Within each rock and each closed shell,
Behind the foreheads that I see,
Are chambers where I cannot dwell.

No skyward path can I sustain,
– but neither can I breach the floor.
I’m grounded to this surface plane.
I’m bounded in by Nature’s law,

And in the homestead, bounded still.
Built walls, shut doors I cannot pass.
Mirrors won’t open at my will.
What is it like beyond their glass?

What goes on at the solid centre
Of a chair? or desk? or bench?
I’ve tried but simply cannot enter.
This is my restriction.

The Poor Print

The Poor Print is Oriel College's student newspaper, with contributions from across the JCR, MCR, SCR, and staff. Our current Executive Editors are Siddiq Islam and Jerric Chong.

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