walls.

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the walls were white

with photos plastered

across shelves.

the voices were

silent enough

to be too loud.

i was somewhere

in-between.

drowning.

 

© Hudson Biko

Photograph by Volkan Olmez

 

 

mornings

there are mornings.

when the sun

shines.

and the birds

sing.

and the trees

stand-still.

and the air

softens.

and the heaviness

is less.

-fleeting

© Hudson Biko

oceans

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there are times

when they are ripples.

fleeting in between

the seams

of dreams

still out of reach

but enough to believe

in the lives we lead.

and

there are times

when they are oceans.

and

I am drowning.

and

the seams

of dreams

still out of reach

aren’t enough to believe

in.

and

all we have

are the strings

 

i’ve been having more of those

-and i’m gasping for the shore.

© Hudson Biko

Photograph by Victor Carvalho

 

A Rush of Green (with Nandita)

Had the pleasure to do another collaboration with the exceptional Nandita. Her majestic verse was absolute magic to write off.

when twilight shines
and pins it with a star.
when the cuckoo sings,
and the mountains stand tall,
when the birds chirp and
she looks at me
with the depth of an ocean,
when her lips tremble and
her eyes reveal all
that she wants
to kiss me as if
there is no morrow…

the cesspools of sorrow
hollow
at the seams
of translucent dreams.
as constellations of green
caught in the peal
of the iris
rush in beams
as quick
as the flow of seas
began by the gentle breeze
seized in serene of their peel

© Hudson Biko and Nandita Manan Yata. 2018.

boxes

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it was a few months ago.

the packing.

and still.

the boxes lie. in place. untouched. forgotten. and still

always remembered.

i suppose

when things

are always leaving.

or

when

you are always going.

 

the ones that stay

become the needles

in the stacks of hay.

and it just doesn’t make sense to look anymore.

© Hudson Biko

Photograph by Anthony Tran

 

questions

there are times when the leaves settle

against the blue of the sky.

and there are thoughts that linger

like

do you tell

yourself that

it was nothing

at all?

too?

or

do you

maze through

alleyways

filled with the haze

of days

you keep setting ablaze?

too?

or

did i only care

because

you cared?

(too?)

© Hudson Biko