Coming Home

20190414_203019.jpgOn failed attempts of coming home, wrong priorities and learning better.

Art by Barooja (IG @barooja)

On Memory & Loss

20190413_213345.jpgSome 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.

This Place

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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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A Torch In The Night

IMG_20171231_132642_625.jpgShe 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
She’s beautiful
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.
She’s alive
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.

~Saadia