On mornings like these
when trees sway
to chirping birds
and herds
of ants
scatter
across grass
glimmering in
morning dew
I realize
that maybe
just maybe
these little things
are enough
That little
is only as little
as we allow it to be
And I’m learning to be okay with that
© Hudson Biko
Hey there! Thank you for reading that. 😊 I’m currently away for a little bit so I may not be able to respond to your comments or messages but I look forward to reading them when I get back!
❤️
Biko
Consciousness
sinking
sinking
sinking
sank
blissfully
underneath blankets
and blank eyes
thirsting for sovereignty
after living
five feet above ground
in worlds
filled by empty words
and broken ideality
Subconsciousness
collapsing
as
vibrations
forge their
way in pulses
through
still air
Reality
slowly brought
to actuality
Erasing
fragments
of brief
escape
created
prior to
7.34 am
–
Gates opened
Eyes blank
Floating
© Hudson Biko
The room was dark.
Sweat poured
from pores
to heart
to skin
to sheets
that held
houses drowning
in pools
of fear
collected from
racing hearts
held stagnant
and hurt
from abandoned
identities
and created
fallacies
As i watched those
that dared to leave
so they could live
run and
run and
run
in to unlit rooms
of 5.31 AM
–
Morning
© Hudson Biko
Eyelids flicker
as rotating
hands
as giant as
ants blow
unfathomed
possibilities
held
in revolving
days I watch
dissipate
from
maelstroms
of
insouciant
realities
i call
“Could have beens”
disappear into
realms
of regret
i keep holding on to
when they were
never mine to begin with
and i cant stop them
© Hudson Biko
Photograph: Iona Casapu
Redefined trajectories
are
facets
of
a/the
greater
trajectory.
© Hudson Biko
Photograph: Wil Stewart
living in this paradox of mobility and immobility.
Watching hours turn into days,
days into months,
months into years,
years into lifetimes,
diluted into an infinity of others that existed before us
as we stayed silent in these corrugated lines
living on the margins of timelines
that cut through rationality
with thin blades piercing
as we found ourselves
asking if this is
living
at all
© Hudson Biko
Photograph: Tim Trad
found drowning in created connotations
that lived in the shadows
held by
perceived permutations
where nights
protected by cold sheets
gave way to even colder mornings
as i lay
waiting for meaning in moments
like these
never finding it in I
or the eyes
that stared back
maybe now i do
© Hudson Biko
Memories hang at the precipice of nightfall
Each somewhat held by familiar voices
That crack at the echos
And dissipate across galaxies
Struggling to hold
on to the fallacies
we fed ourselves
as each finger was greased
by midnight oil
And encouraged to let go
Encouraged to b r e a k
Because parts of us already did
Because
Parts of us
hanged at the precipice for a little to long
Because
Parts of us struggled to get full on to the fallacies we fed ourselves
Because
Parts of us
Weren’t us
And
they never will be.
© Hudson Biko
Photograph: Sharon Christina
I think that sometimes we forget
That we aren’t meant to be anywhere.
That we don’t have deadlines or regulations.
That at this very moment,
We are formulating and experiencing our own distinct journeys.
Journeys that aren’t regulated or paralleled by pre-conceived expectations
But by our own doing.
Exactly when we need to.
© Hudson Biko
Photograph: Quino Al
The sky was painted in shades of light blue mixed with touches of reflection, introspection and thoughts that refused to be let go. As
clouds sporadically set semblances of their existence into transient open spaces in a sun that fell halfway past an afternoon. As
they flew above us consuming spaces left untaken by the madness that perpetuated in the spaces we kept hidden. As
we realized that we are only a reflection of Is brought together and eyes that stare into a distance we will never reach. As
we realize that we will never have open skies.
That we will never fly.
That we are set.
That we are exactly what we are.
And that most times:
That that’s enough.
© Hudson Biko
Photograph: Leonard von Bibra
