The fear remains simple. I am afraid that one day, my quiet spirit will no longer be sufficient in the envelopment of this space.
So much power in the act of writing, or so I choose to place my faith in. I have written letters for people with no faces and no names, crafting pieces for an unknown recipient. I do not think that I am foolish for trying something unreturned, for who knows if in these secret doings will someone find reason to hope again?
Leave a scattering on the car window, pages of old, table worn and other possible places. Run like the wind, don’t get caught or the magic spell may find itself undone.
In my timid heart I do fear that I may be playing with fire, but I will continue building and see if there is more than this fragile house of cards.
Darkness of the mind, just an inkblot of poison fills the jar.
Undo the blinds, can you still see the faint sunshine that filters through.
Light and dark, unmatched playmates in shadowy playgrounds.
Run your hand along this length of rope or the metallic cool of a gun.
Will it be tonight, that the fingers will curl into the familiar hollow and pick up.
Will it be tonight, that the phone will be switched off and eyes shut tight.
Will it be tonight, that there will be a note left behind.
Please don’t let it be tonight, or any other night.
I’m here praying that you’ll live through these terrifying times.
Please hold on.
Don’t let your starlight eyes lose their glimmer in the dark.
Don’t forget how angry injustice makes you feel. It’s terrible how crimes need to be judged by severity, when wrongs against humanity are the scum of the earth.
A woman’s sense of pride is scorned, when one speaks of indecent glances. Women are pages in the catalogue, perused and felt up to the corners. Eyes are made to travel, don’t go feeling special or personally targeted.
We are bodies made of stardust, and some take more in the name of entitlement. A skirt too short, a figure too svelte, it must be her fault that hands desire to lean in for an impolite touch.
Girls are indecisive, they say, girls know not what they want. Others take their voices and speak in false mellifluous promises. It’s easy to know what they need, turn their loud no-s into secret yes-s. Catch one alone, in a crowd if there is a sense of daring.
In this world, the voice of a female falls on deaf ears. The wrongness committed has become a norm and there is no need to raise a fuss, unless the case strikes as strange or unexpected. Late nights and teenager years are too ordinary to be given a second thought.
Yet it remains unjust, that in an era of spaceships and underwater kingdoms half the population have to be afraid simply for being a woman. Things shift in time, be it gold dust or night constellations, and so I will continue to hope for better tomorrows for the sake of the future generation.
Though my mind leaves me, please know that my heart has always been here with you. Don’t let my wandering mind scare you.
People are afraid of being alone. Visit the city, that’s how one will see.
The sole ones rush quickly, earphones in, phone on the ear, the downcast face of shame. In a world so connected, solitude is a sin and loneliness is the immoral conclusion perceived.
Or must it be? For being alone happens to be my affection.
This is my secret: that in a space colossal and imbued with human energy, I stand still to watch it all. Instead of running and dashing about, my feet grow roots. I wish to recognise the life of this immense atmosphere.
On the park bench, on the windy pedestrian bridge, these places find my soul slow to a halt. I appear in their memory a flitting image, but to me they stay a little longer. These are lives by the abundant and they are stories I will never unravel. These moments can make me weep.
If I could, I would be in want to touch as many lives as possible. There’s incredible potential in one, how much more shall there be in a group? Crowds overwhelm me, but in my staring I am hopelessly enchanted. I cannot comprehend this enormity despite my best efforts.
I am happily alone in the city, but if you are willing — would you watch the city with me?
I did not want to see. Sight has a way of painting pictures prettier than what they are supposed to be. It has a way of making people fall both in and out of love. A way used to judge, consider and destroy.
Day in and day out, I am clouded in darkness. In a space cold and narrow, there is no difference between the floor and the ceiling. These walls of marble are smooth and impossible to the touch. With eyes closed there were some things I could no longer understand.
Reach out, you said. To whom? Who can I reach while I’m asphyxiating in this pit, an endless tunnel of despair? In my desperation I am a flower on the wall, stuck paper-thin and immobile. Though I try, no one will hear these screams.
I am a piece of coal, indistinct, burning, burning burning burning
I reach out at last for someone, anyone, to prove that I’m not alone. But the scariest thing isn’t taking the first step. It’s taking it and confirming your biggest fears: that there is no one, only void and this is how I will go. How do I move on from here, to know that all that remains is empty?
This is what you made me do.
Just like a dandelion in the wind, my mind’s been blown into a thousand pieces.
In case of emergency, break glass.
What is an emergency?
Standing next to the great big window obscured with condensation.
Large crowd, clammy hands, a bus full of people.
Clarity of sight wheezing in and out. Churning of the wheels, churning of the stomach.
Bodies that sway with the movement of the vehicle. Collision of human flesh.
The increased throbbing in the head.
A wailing child. The indignant parent.
Stampede of the feet.
Broken glass. Blaring car horns and hurried brakes.
Every eye on me.
Now why, did you do that? is what the bus driver asks angrily.
Take a deep breath. Blood on the floor.
In case of emergency, I say in a hushed tone, break glass.
You were like the ocean, proud and relentless.
There was no mercy for seashells like me.
Time has a way of scaring all those who are tied to it
I am but a mouse watching the shadow of the night flicker by the lampstand
With each twitch I shuddered
Look at me, whispered the flower among the weeds.