I have woken before,
In a glass case curiously cut, into a shape,
I know was not of design.
There were corners,
Where walls didn’t meet,
And doors there, below my feet,
With windows so high,
That one couldn’t greet, any face, peering inside.
Should I venture a hello,
Or perhaps the howl of a ghost?
Was I buried alive or excavated almost?
Here voices fall without vowels,
Hollow shells; Wordlessly verbatim,
Sand dunes moaning with centuries of silence.
Why whisper when none can hear?
Why shout when one can’t answer?