A morning staring at the sun February 27

A soft corner in my room,
a ray of early morning sun
bends and colours the wall.
When I am waiting for someone,
I sit very silent
and shy
on a plastic chair.
I look at the door, did the door-bell ring?
One hour and then two,
sometimes I think that I live in
the confines of my hard-back notebook.

Little by little, anger for me is shouting at shadows
behind a closed door, can I raise my voice?
Can I raise my voice? I don’t know.