Frame rate 25

The truth lies,
I suppose, in what there can be seen.

I know the world, as shown on my TV,
truth, in between the frame rate intervals,
finds ways into my cervix, where it stays.

A tortured Syrian child, the name Omar,
whose nails were torn out, lingers on my mind
then falls apart when a commercial starts.
Not waiting for the rest, I zap away.

From forecast on to football
to pruning of a rose, a cooking contest show.
A Ronny always makes me laugh.
By every second twenty-five
new images invade me more.

But when I go to bed,
accompanied by thoughts of life,
I close my eyes to find some peace
in dreams and fantasy.
The sleep won’t come.

How can I sleep,
as in a corner of my room
Omar is watching me
with frame rate twenty-five.


Comments on: "Frame rate 25" (8)

  1. This is outstanding, Ina. You have put into words, thoughts that I have often had, only you said it better. Beautiful writing! Bravo!

  2. P.S. I’ve shared this on my FB page, hope you don’t mind. xoxo Res.

  3. What a really powerful thought provoking poem


  4. Powerful, Ina! How the images of the media can be controlled and yet not controlled by us. I have shared on FB.

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