P O E T R Y
I have lost myself, again
As I dared to venture out
I wanted the world to discover me
See me, touch me
“All will be well,” I assured myself.
But the world was the same
Rude, scathing, and bitter
Among gasping breaths—
I fought until my knees and palms bled.
When the show-down ended and the sun set,
I was left alone—
So I tried to count the new wounds.
How long are they going to last?
An eternity or a split-second?
Is the pain going to fade?
For I have to make room for the next wounds.
Did I really need the world to see me? I wonder.
I was comfortable enough, in that mist-shrouded place
Where they gave me a safe space—
The sun bathed my heart in hope which had the brightest tint of orange
The moon soothed my soul and whispered sweet nothings in my ear
The trees listened to my sorrow and loved me just as I was
The birds taught me how to dance because I had forgotten how to.
I was given enough.
But I will step out again.
I will try again with the break of dawn.
Even though the pain reigns over the happy feelings
I will keep going on, knowing that no feeling is final.
I will set my foot in every corner of this world and tell them
That I exist—
And that this world is just as mine as it is theirs.
My thoughts are cursing me again
I have to acknowledge them
So, I sit down—
And become one with the pen and paper.
Today, I am going to make poetry from pain.
I am going to let my thoughts run naked
And not be scared of the judging eyes.
I am not trying to make beautiful art from pretty words
Not trying to make strangers stare at it
I am just uniting my thoughts with the paper.
I will let them run wild, unafraid, and young
Because I am not scared of making ugly art.
I will let the pen run until my thoughts breathe normally
Until the oxygen reaches properly to my brain and lungs
Until my wounds smile from the caress of these words
Until my heart feels held and is at peace.
Munima is constantly seeking out new philosophies of life but never applying them, reach her out at [email protected]