Tag: poetry

Ripping off the Words

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What’s a good picture for you?
mine is the one in which I’m the happiest.
it’s fascinating how the parts of us
that we don’t appreciate enough
are the parts
most worthy of appreciation.
and I don’t just mean appearances.

the over consciousness of my mind
that surrounds me with fear,
the kind
where I’m okay with staying longer
but I’d rather not.
I have too much to hide.

the fresh acne bleeding off my face
or the bleeding of my hollow bones
you won’t see a red colour on me
or feel my skin rough as stone
the cut on my arm that I got last night
trying to rip my skin off
ripping off my sight
of rational consciousness
that the demons already overcame
but you won’t see it through
the faux smile on my face
you won’t see those stretch marks
on my thighs
or my severe guilt-ridden mind
I hope you don’t tell me
to look any more alive
already wise
enough to still be here.
and maybe even stay longer.

no, I’m not depressed
necessarily at least
just not as happy as I looked
in the last picture we took.

you see
That’s the funny thing about pictures.
the stillness is too biased
towards the moment it was taken
that I might never know
what the present holds
for since the moment in the picture
a lot of me,
has moulded into one.

the people standing close
aren’t around at all
to be recognised.
the smiling faces
meant more than just people
they said, “it was a luxury
which couldn’t be bought with money.”
let alone, I try to put myself last
and even, maybe, win both
one day,
the photo-booth would count me worthy
even if I still am the person as I was
a decade away.

so I put the polaroids
on the last page of my book
as if those were the last
pictures I ever took.

Image of a polaroid picture on a white background. The polaroid picture is dark and difficult to make out what, or who, the subject is.
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Resilience

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The Epilogue

To the one who has arrived
Bringing lucidity to an interrupted-
And wandering life
That was once tribulated,
But is now contented

To the one I wear as a second skin
Bringing glee-
And carving pathways to the light within
Filling voids to manifest a fading dream,
Breathing life back into a once dimming gleam

To the one who has heard
And answered a heart in need-
With a love deserved
And set a caged bird free.

—

I’ve always struggled to be present. To be in the moment, to experience life fully as it is in the present moment, and more importantly, enjoy it. That is kind of how despair works, I suppose. The only thing that got me through the more harrowing moments where I felt empty was my longing for a better future. The belief that things would eventually work out is what kept me going. That is hope. My hope lies in the future, the epilogue, and this is my ode to it.

Image of the landscape of South Africa. It features massive plateaus and green valleys. Above, the sun shines across a cloudy sky.
(Image courtesy of Thomas Bennie on Unsplash)


Child of Alkebulan.

Dear world…

You don’t know who I am.
To you,
I’m just a face among billions of other faces.
A body among billions of other bodies.
Billions of faces and bodies you encounter daily.
But I am one among those many,
A face, a body,
Connected as one.
A mind, a heart,
Two parts,
In spirit.
Dear world,
Call me,
Human.
Define me,
As
Being.

I, Indigo child,
Seed of Alkebulan,
From the womb of invisibility
Appear,
As I am born and-
My consciousness-fuelled-wails of a babe-in-arms,
Give a voice to existing.

Yet world,
Even in the midst of my many new roars
Still, you do not hear of me
WORLD, listen, I am present.
In your space, “I AM”.

World,
You plunder-
And I
March in strong opposition,
To your affliction filled and bloodied deeds
I am awake
While you search for different ways to remain asleep
You divide, conquer, and contaminate
I fight you in hidden actions and in manifested speech
World,
You try to silence me with your reluctance to understand
That I am more than some other woman
or just another man,
But “I AM”.
“I AM”.
World, do you hear me?
“I AM!”

World,
You will hear of me-
And,
Your noises stilled
By the deafening war-cries of the rising dynasty
Rooted indelibly,
In the fertile soils of my ancestry-
A home within which I,
Drift in the connecting oceans of my tranquillity
Basking in every glorious vision
Of an emerging me.
—
Africa’s struggle to come into her own resonates with me deeply. It reminds me of the challenges I’ve faced in defining my identity apart from outside influences and the divisions those influences caused in me.
Now just like her, slowly rising, finding her voice, and embracing her roots, I, too, am boldly declaring who I am, being true to myself, and taking her wherever I go.

On Autism with My Son, Waiting for the Train

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Together, down a level
he’s overly tense-
Among the “normal people”
with their loud staring silence…

A huge smile on his face
he leans into the track
It’s my only weakness
and I hold him back

He’s laughing for years
Jumps, spins, flaps his hands
tasting the tears
only he understands

Reciting words
breathless and dragged
Before he explodes
however, I’d plead

Help ME Please

Always we huddle
forever in anticipation
looking down the tunnel
for the next one

What I’m Learning About Women Aging

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What I’m learning about women aging
is we don’t do it alone –

everything able to dust gather
lines alongside us, trinkets and trophies

defiant on a cherry shelf,
saved from the fate

of the thrift shop.
We think when someone passes,

this time they’ll look twice,
ask what we knew before now,

where we discovered truth. Beauty.
But mostly we see each other,

silver and heavy in our limited number,
tarnishing into unrecognizable.

Just things atop meaningful things.
Waiting to be remembered.

In The Car on the Way to the Hospital

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When he circles the roundabout,
I am pressed against the car door,
And it starts to hurt again.

Bandages coiled around both arms
like tefillin,
Blood as red as wine.

We rush through the night air,
A truly religious experience,
Worshipping in the synagogue of pain.

I pull my cap down over my eyes,
Because the lights, they blur together,
Just like I knew they would.

Just like they do every time.

Her Mother’s Advice

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Her mother told her when she was young –
Be the kind of woman who can keep a family united.

A woman who guards and protects fragile relationships,
who cushions each family bond, so they don’t break.

But no one ever taught her how to fix the broken
pieces of her, trying to keep people together.

Too often are women expected to be the glue –
as if we are born to repair, hold together and rescue.

Too often are women left broken because the only thing
they couldn’t put back together was themselves.

Too often women break because they were never taught
to strengthen their foundations before learning to cement the lives of others.

Shadows of Misery

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Sitting in the shadows of misery
Unraveling imprisoned dreams

Wishing I can set them free to the sky
Wishing I gave them my wings,
make them fly

Sitting in the palace of no dreaming
Wondering why there are no ceilings

Wishing my thoughts knew no limits
Wishing my tomorrow is so vivid.

Sitting in the gardens of no feelings
Bury by darkness, no seasons

Wishing the heat could caress my dark skin
Wishing the pages would light my world still

Sitting in the darkness with myself,
I realize the light is in my hands.

Dialectic

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Your brain is a film
played at 5x speed –
the images barely intelligible,
leave no room for thought, only gut.
Meanwhile, the theater is collapsing
in slow motion.

So you step outside and
begin naming everything you see,
attempt to capture some of the air
you’ve been denied. A half-smile
can turn your day around, some ice
applies to the cheeks can freeze
a spiral.

Dear Man, act fast to improve
this moment. It’s all you have
to share. There never was
a straight road, but trust your
wise mind and I promise
you’ll make it to the third act.

When all else fails, radically
accept yourself. There, before
the climax of every outburst,
you can find a place to stop
and catch your breath.

Alone

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In the darkened room, where shadows silently creep,
I sit alone, enveloped in solitude, as the night grows deep.
Though voices resonate, laughter fills the air,
Within the crowd, a piercing pain, a burden hard to bear.

A somber figure, draped in midnight’s cloak,
With eyes like distant stars, reflecting my sorrows.
It whispers in my ear, with chilling embrace,
But everything I heard was silence.
In this dim-lit chamber, it dances in the shadows, a solitary waltz.

Amidst the bustling crowd, where laughter’s waves crash,
It wraps me tightly, like an unwanted sash.
I yearn for someone, for a familiar touch,
Yet the shadows persist, a feeling that’s hard to clutch.

It gazes upon me, with eyes that hold such depth,
A reminder of the longing, within my soul’s breadth.
Its hand reaches out, in a gesture of despair,
Inviting me to share in its solemn, silent prayer.

But amidst the darkness, a flicker of light appears,
A glimmer of hope, dispelling the gloom and fears.
In its presence, I learn. I grow. I find strength.

As night turns into day, I rise from this darkness, slowly finding my way.
For I’ll seek the light, where true solace finds.
I emerge, unbroken and strong,
And find my home, where I truly belong.