{"id":735,"date":"2010-07-06T10:00:00","date_gmt":"2010-07-06T10:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/ink.verticalplus.co.uk\/archive\/?p=735"},"modified":"2010-07-06T10:00:00","modified_gmt":"2010-07-06T10:00:00","slug":"new-prose-poem-illustration-by-romit-berger","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/new-prose-poem-illustration-by-romit-berger\/","title":{"rendered":"New prose poem + illustration by Romit Berger"},"content":{"rendered":"


<\/p>\n

MORNING<\/span>


The dead-awakening sound of the alarm clock tells me it is morning again. I wash up and prepare breakfast for my husband and my children. I wish them a nice day as they rush out the door. I sit at the dining table breathing burned toast, dishes waiting to be cleared away. I am a prisoner, locked up in the cage of my own mind. <\/span>

My cage is a labyrinth with endless passages rather than the familiar structure with strong metal bars and a lock. It is dark inside the cage, but a lot is going on inside all the same. Lights flash and pulsate through sinewy meshes, chemistry in full motion, resulting in the alchemy of thoughts.   <\/span>

My thoughts are like a frightened bird slamming its frail shape against the bars of a cage, its feathers scattering. There is ringing in my ears. I breath deep and try to take control of my racing mind. Everything is really ok, I tell myself. Your life is quite nice, I continue. Nothing to worry about, I reassure. What more do you want, I demand. I want to be free, I whisper.<\/span>

An image is projected on the wall of my cage.<\/span>

I am in an ancient library. The dimness is thick, musty. Heavy wooden shelves climbing up to the ceiling. Thousands of books, millions of words. I am the librarian standing on top of a tall ladder. I have read all the books and know where to place them. I also know there is one special book which I have not yet found.<\/span>

I climb a little higher. I discover a secret door. I walk out the door.<\/span>

Clear blue skies and sandy beaches. Gentle waves licking the shore. A light breeze blowing, spraying the air with a salty perfume. Serenity all around. I am walking barefoot on the warm sand, holding a straw hat in my hand. I am climbing the gentle slope to the beach house. Turquoise wine glasses waiting on the table. A colourful bowl filled with fragrant fruit. White paper lanterns swaying. The sun is about to take its last dip of the day in the sea. I sit down. I pour wine into a glass. Take a sip. Lean back and close my eyes.<\/span>

A screech is clutching at my drowsy senses. I open my eyes. I am in a taxi wriggling its way in dense traffic. I must have dozed off after walking tirelessly around town, looking for the perfect gift, breezing in and out of little shops, lovingly caressing endless possible choices. <\/span>

Strolling through the town\u2019s courtly squares, my steps are weightless. Silky pink ribbons flow in my veins, fluffy tunes play themselves in my head. I pause on a bench with a delicious Creme de Marron crepe melting in my hand. I breathe contentment. I am in heaven.<\/span>

Then, I buy a book with beautifully intriguing illustrations. I can almost hear the colours singing. A perfect ending for a perfect morning. <\/span>

The taxi stops in front of the towering building. <\/span>

Stepping into the elevator\u2019s narrow cage, I press the top button. In the room, I fall into the brocade armchair. <\/span>

I am tired. Breakfast dishes in the sink waiting impatiently to be cleared away. But I can\u2019t resist leafing through the book that I just bought.<\/span>

The book tells a story about a woman looking for happiness. <\/span>



* Romit Berger<\/span> says “I am a graphic designer and artist, living in Prague for the past ten years. In 2008 I joined a writing group – English is not my native language but I graduated from an international school, so it is a part of my life ever since. I feel that the dual process of finding words to describe mind images and illustrating written words, opens a new exciting dimension of creativity for me. My work can be seen on <\/span>www.romitcom.com<\/a>

<\/font><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

MORNINGThe dead-awakening sound of the alarm clock tells me it is morning again. I wash up and prepare breakfast for my husband and my children. I wish them a nice day as they rush out the door. I sit at the dining table breathing burned toast, dishes waiting to be cleared away. I am a […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7,9],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-735","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry","category-word-image"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/735","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=735"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/735\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=735"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=735"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=735"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}