Nothing prepares you for that knock on the door, that one thing which throws your world into a whirl storm.
There is no set manual which details- preparation for loss.
But, it doesn’t come as a shock either.
You’ve felt flutterings in your heart all morning, not the pleasant kind.
Your hand trembles as you lift the coffee cup to your lips.
You feel some type of way but you don’t know why…
soon enough- you do.
There’s a banging on the door. A body is framed in the doorway.
Your heart skips a beat, lips quiver,
no word is said but a silent motherly message passes across- from her to you.
She barges into the house, turns on the TV set. Her legs give way.
She collapses onto the couch.
You crash beside her, hands intertwined in each other’s. Holding onto the only thing you’ve got- hope.
A voice on the TV utters, “school under siege”.
All you hear: “our baby boys are under siege”.
Nothing prepares you for that knock on the door. When your world as you know it- is thrown into a storm.
I kept waiting for the world to hand over to me, that which I withheld from myself. I sought for it, chased it, demanded it. That fuzzy feeling which one gets from being appreciated or loved or cherished.
I stood on tiptoes awaiting that one person who would make my world all sunny again, that one person who would make me feel like my presence is needed and my absence dreaded, that one person who would make me feel good about myself.
And what I got, was a ball of spitfire. From afar, it looked like a beautiful powerful light, just the kind to elicit the feeling of stardom, but up close… It burned. And I learnt, the world is a reflection of the image I view myself in. (I saw charred skin in the mirror, and the world gave me one).
-We cannot expect love from the world until we are willing to give that love to ourselves. And when we get to know who we are, we accept who we are, we love who we are, the world as we see it would be different.
Somewhere in Africa,
A dark skinned child
Lay on clay soil, laughing away
The earth’s worries.
His mother, braiding cornrows
On his sister’s 4C hair,
Discussing the business
Of the neighbour’s daughter,
Who is conveniently
Absent from their midst.
A man, assembles his
Remote tools into a barrow:
Hoe, spade, cutlass.
The ridges are made,
He stares at his empty land,
The sun is out,
The cloud’s at bay,
A prayer escapes from his lips,
Lord, please let there be rain.
They have food for their stomachs
Only for a meal,
A man steps upon clay soil,
To the sound of a child’s laughter:
Water glistens upon his skin,
His stomach churns;
But two hands are outstretched
Picking up the laughing reason
Why everything is all worth it.
The above image is courtesy of British Ecological Society
Some scars are tapered to our skins as a reminder, of the battles we’ve conquered and a reminder of a future we do not want to recreate.
Some scars hide in the depth of our memories. Sitting, bidding their time and awaiting that one little thing called a trigger, which would birth them into existence again.
And then there are those scars, ambling between our frontal cortex and amygdala. Always there in our thoughts, present. Awakening a daily battle of conquest and defeat (of which victory is not a daily occurrence).
Some scars are revealed, many are hidden, but everyone inevitably houses one.
And if we look beneath the surface, we’ll find that most people are just as scarred as (if not more scarred than) we are….
You watched me grow from a 21 year old kid to a twenty six year old adult. Held my hand, stood beside, while I crashed and rose and crashed some more because, I never learnt the first time.
You braved it out despite knowing, you were not my choice. You were solely the outcome of a daughter abiding to a mother’s choice.
You stood beside me when the people I thought were my world looked at me, solely as a label. Your caramel eyes peering into mine as you declare, “You are perfect”. A mantra you’d whisper, no matter how often I needed to hear it.
You’d tell me up when I needed it most. And it hurt, and I sulked, but each time I’d secretly acknowledge you were right… secretly.
I didn’t tell you. I could but I didn’t. You didn’t get to hear me say “you were right”. You didn’t get to hear me say- I love you.
And just as we were, we are no more. It’s just me- my sorrow, my burden, my grief, my guilt and my words which I whisper to the winds hoping the carry them to the ground you lay.
I love you…. I’m sorry.
I really enjoyed doing the december poetry challenge last year. Plus, I found this really inspiring prompt called “30 layers, 30 days” which many bloggers have completed now. So, I decided to use the prompts for December.
Prompts: Day 4 (The right person), Day 5 (Over too soon).
There are some people in this world, who have learnt the art of living and loving the life they’ve been granted. They are masters in leaving yesterday in the sea of the past and welcoming each dawn with a brand new slate.
They have learnt that this world would break us if we let it, and they know how to traverse it with cracks. They know that love put into the world is never a loss.
Those are the people you meet at a bus station, in a plane; strangers meeting solely by fate. And when you come across one, you will know because they have mastered the art of spreading rainbows no matter the weather; and the sun rays they bring with their presence, last with you long after they are gone.
These people are the gems of the world.
I didn’t know who I was and morphed into any societal version I found appealing; Alternating between personas of people who may or may not have found themselves.
I was one person until I came across someone I thought to be better; and then I became that person. I was lost, yet thought that I had found myself.
But… there was always someone better. Someone more charming, more sassy, funnier, kinder. Every corner housed someone who brought something unique to the table; I wanted so badly to be someone until I wanted to be everyone.
And when the lives around you, of the people you badly want to be start crumbling in massive chunks onto the blemished ground, you realise that you don’t even know them; Those people you tried to be. And in that moment when all around you is failing, you will be forced to look within… I was.
I found a gaping hole born of emptiness; I heard a voice faint and devoid of strength; I found a soul weak and barely there. That was all I had and I was forced to accept it. I acknowledged what I had within, as flawed as it was; and that marked the beginning of my evolution.
For this week’s Writer’s quote/poem Wednesday, I’m going to take a personal detour. We all have those people in our lives who are much more than friends and are practically family. People who waltz into our lives unexpectedly and inadvertently take up a huge space in it; well, my friend/housemate/sister recently published her first poetry collection called Soul Unraveled.
This book is a journey through Love, heartbreak, abuse, and rising above it all. It touches on aspects of life in short free verses divided into six different chapters. The poems in this collection are raw and unfiltered especially when tackling issues such as sexual assault.
Now that I’ve talked the talk, Its time to walk that talk. Below are a few poems from “Soul Unraveled“. If you like what you read, you can pick up the book which is available in e-form and hardcopy on amazon. The link is at the bottom of the post.
You can also catch up with the writer on Instagram @ Soul Unraveled
Available on Amazon: SoulUnraveled: Rising from the ashes
If there are any book reviewers who would be willing to review this book, please send me an email at firstname.lastname@example.org
Living with him was like swimming in a shark infested ocean and coming out alive. The constant fear of wondering if I would ever make it to the shore; getting there and experiencing relief which lasts only for a few seconds, because I know. No doubt about it, the next day would bring with it, another date with the ocean. The fear, the apprehension and the cycle continues… That was life with him.
Don’t you dare tell me I should have tried harder. There are not many people who would survive a day and I did; I gave it seven years of my life which I can never get back. Was it patience or helplessness? Love or foolishness?
Facebook page: Words of a random
The anger seeps through
Every pore in my body,
Lessening with each drop shed.
It builds up Inside of me
Fuelled by every thought,
Increasing in intensity.
I over come it,
it overwhelms me;
Everyday- I survive it