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Enough

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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

 

Lucidity

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It’s in the little things

Like

long

naps

and

letting

words

find their own silence

 

© Hudson Biko

Photograph: Nick De Partee

Lucidity II: http://wp.me/p8iCv2-1lE

Survive

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You feel it in the air sometimes

lingering

in its repetition

In its own rendition

of the sound

made by

swarms

of bees

Buzzing

In hives

that Survive

the strands

of time

In time

Still stinging

and ringing

In metaphorical ears

that even after

all these years

Still

kinda

sound the same

Still

kinda

feel the same

Maybe slightly kinder

to ears

less fragile

after years

of buzzing

But the stings

never heal

No,

those ones stay

Those ones

linger

Morphing into

what we try

to be

Those ones

become

our own rendition

of the bee

that once stung

And maybe that’s all we ever really needed

maybe that’s our buzz

 

© Hudson Biko

Photograph: Annie Spratt

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elixir

We poured it into ourselves

letting it seep

through valves

that would let it

bleed

into the parts

of us that were

always torn apart,

that would let it

feed

the parts

of us that were

always hungry for a part

of more,

for

the parts of us that we always wanted to make

whole

;

but torn things are never whole

,

their holes

are left

bleeding

and seeping

into valves

that feed

the parts of us

that were

more.

 

© Hudson Biko

deliverance

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Existent

in the absence

of assurance

Thinking

that this madness

will somehow

bow

into our own deliverance

That somehow

there is more

to this

than this

That somehow

this fragments

of attachment

will

make us feel

less absent

That somehow

these

bouts of

Doubt

are only temporary.

But

we

are only temporary

and this

madness

,

this ‘madness’

is our deliverance.

© Hudson Biko

Photograph: Henri Meilhac

Woke

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I woke up to it

 

Threading itself

into threads

that barely held together

,

Staining the

stains

that only stayed

because they

could

barely fade away

,

Infringing itself

on the fringes

because they

could barely hold themselves together

;

Because I could barely hold myself together.

 

© Hudson Biko

Photograph: Benjamin Combs

 

 

 

 

 

Little Things

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

Light

 

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

 

 

Dark

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

 

Clockwork

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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

Pieced By HB

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Redefined trajectories

are

facets

of

a/the

greater

trajectory.

© Hudson Biko

Photograph: Wil Stewart

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2.am

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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

 

 

meaning

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

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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

 

 

Do Things At Your Own Time

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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

  • Picked and edited from an earlier essay I wrote and came across today. 💫❤️