I woke up to a sky of grey
a hiding sun, a rainy day
clouds of hail - stormy what nots
rotund, dang and heavy drops

I said to them, be my poem.

Then the clouds of storm cleared
the golden orb appeared
a rainbow spilled color on the grass
the blossoms sang sweetly - unasked

I said to them, be my poem

To the poor man on the street
and the rag picker with bare feet
the cobbler and the fruit seller
the palmist and the fortune teller

I said to them, be my poem

To a new born and then, flesh on a pyre
the wind that whisks ashes from fire
to the fragrance of spring and the frost of cold
the stench of garbage and the scent of rose

I said to them, be my poem

I turned to love, anger and defeat
laughed with humour and cried with grief
traced the many fleeting expressions on a face
fluid movements and those without grace

I said to them, stay and be my poem

Then I paused, I looked within -inside
into my heart and into my mind
so I could meet myself and know
see and hear, feel and grow

So that one day, I too may become a poem

𝐈
𝐍ever
𝐅igured that
𝐀
𝐓eensy tiny
𝐔ndeveloped
𝐀ttraction would
𝐓urn
𝐈nto
𝐎vert
𝐍ausea

delicate as snowfall brushing your cheek
and wind flowing through on an open-topped peak
but when you go home, when you go home
the warmth washes it all away.

when it captures you, raptures and
seizes your soul, you feel it take hold and
suddenly
you cannot recall
what once was cold and no longer is
but still, a silent strange feeling
lingers
until you are left with your tremors, your
trembling—
the imprint, the mark of a melody.

“Thanks for asking, but 𝑰
am fine, just a little tired.
𝑪𝒂𝒏’𝒕 complain, you know?
Everybody gets a bit
stressed sometimes, what with
all that we’ve got to 𝒅𝒐.
It’s not like 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 is any different
than any other day, any other person.
𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 somewhere has it far
worse than I do, so don’t feel sorry
for me. No, 𝒔𝒂𝒗𝒆 your compassion
for a person who really needs it, not
𝒎𝒆.”

on the edge
of this ravine, I’ve stood
so long that the grass has grown
between my toes, moss hanging off
my fingers in tendrils,
wildflowers in my hair,
but today it is time to move.

the darkness yawns wide, though
it wasn’t always this way.
once, it was a child—
like all grown-ups once were.
once, it was just a crack in the dirt,
the product of a thousand tiny
earthquakes.

when i was a child, running
free as the wind,
i stumbled to a stop at its cusp.

i became afraid like a
fawn turns to a deer with
wide, wide, wide eyes
darting around as the fish
in a crystal sea.
i spent all my years, frozen
there until the chasm grew and so
did i.

but today, i take the leap.

i shake off the dust and replace
it with steel, steel drum for a heart with
a beat for every step,
one foot in front of the other picking
up speed, until suddenly i am
f l y i n g.

fear?
in another life, perhaps.