Spring

they say that spring is a period of rebirth.

they say

that the gloom

dissipates 

into a concotion

of bloom

and semblances

of hope

,

they say

that the roses

begin to appear

from dirt

that never seemed

to hold anything

,

they say

that things

rise from echelons

of near nothingness,

that things

become somethings

:

that we become something

,

they say

that holes

let go of the cold

and finally

begin to feel

whole.

they never say that spring doesn’t always mean spring

they never say

that those roses

also have thorns

prepared to sting

the coldest parts of us

,

they never say

that feeling something

is something

after all

,

that the cold

moulds stronger hearts

,

they never say

that holes

never really fill

and that there’s every chance we won’t feel

anything after all

;

they never say

that we’ll be left

in the gloom

they said

would disappear

,

but 

maybe

that’s something

after all

:

maybe that’s our rebirth.

© Hudson Biko

Photograph: Jeremy Bishop