Some cope with loss by trying to wipe the past, pretend it never happened. They build anew, over old places, the ones that strike memories while others, the artists, the poets, smear it over paper, let it thaw over years and years.
I combined words I’d written at different points in life for this one.
What I aim to communicate through these words is the feeling of every day being mundane, possibility not exciting you anymore and being hopeless.
Every place I’ve stayed in or been to gives rise to certain feelings. Often, I subconsiously relate places to objects, colours and certain words. (Is that some sort of synesthesia?)
This is one of those poems, about one particular place.
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Living in a world where inclusion is withering by the day and hate crimes and intolerance have become the norm, it is important for us to remind ourselves of the importance and power of empathy and kindness.
While it may seem like tyrannical forces can crush empathy easily, the truth is that only the things planted in empathy survive at the end.
Your words can change the course of a person’s life, for the better or for worse. If you look without prejudice, you’ll only find yourself in everyone.
Weigh your words before you say them.
“Is it true? Is it kind? Is it necessary?”*
* source: hadith
Art in the background by Jenna Bowlercooke
She looks at fireworks
And the child in her resurfaces
I watch her, my stomach twisting
And despair creeping up my throat
She’s silhouetted against the night
And the skyline of this city
And I am afraid
For her, for what comes next.
She’s the torch in the night
And I run my way back
Skipping a step at the stairs
To the dark that feels familiar.
And I envy her
She’s brimming with delight
And I feel like my insides
Are burning and curling
I run my way back
So that I don’t run into decay.
There’s this girl, alive, mad and a masochist, all rolled into one. Her eyes are amber, brooding, and her scars, they run a bit too deep.
I’ve looked just enough to burn and frey at the seams
There’s another girl, pale skin, gold and cedar haired , with topaz eyes that remind me of summer sunrises. She is the living example of how an ideal person should balance life. But the other day I saw parallel cuts across her arm and wondered if anyone had it easy at all.
There’s this other girl, so different for everyone else, she is like the night sky when it is dipped in clouds, veins and tendrils of grey and ivory threating to overcome the sky; she is the moon that preserves beauty when at midnight the world looks like an unending slate of obsidian but she is also the thunder that cleaves the world apart. I wonder when she’ll learn of her own power.
I remember smiling at you
And feeling this warmth
In the snow that
Skims my bones.
Your hair curves around itself
Like tresses of silk overlap
And like water
Ever flowing and unebbing
Like folds of velvet
Soft but firm
And dark… like the night sky
But flecked with lighter hues
Almost as if
Beams of light
Tear at the sky
With lethal claws of morning.
The world is bathed in
A dull shade of honey
Like the blood is
seeped out of its veins
It’s still pretty
How a mustard veil
Can make the sky look new
When the world slumbering underneath
I’ve loved the mountains
That cradled my home
That held us firm
When lives were lost
And now they disappear
Behind a gust of sand
And I’m left sobbing
At all that my land has endured
And all that it still must.