there are days
when the shine
of the sun
will ring
in the sills
of the windows
after the pour
of the sky.
and there are days
when the breeze
of the wind
will birth
the oceans
of the earth
to the sea
of the moon.
and there are days
that will be still.
and gone.
all at once.
© Hudson Biko
it was about midday.
the branches were low.
a lawn mower
hovered
above the sound of the birds
lined against the silence
of the sky.
the blue
was bleeding.
in
and out.
© Hudson Biko
often
growing up
after a fall
i was told
to let the wounds
be.
that the best
way for their
healing
was their solitude.
that scars could come
but most would
go.
and i would be better.
it is a weird thing.
for i am all grown now.
and i
try
and try
and try
let the wounds be.
and it just doesn’t seem to work anymore
© Hudson Biko
Photograph by Matheus Ferrero
there is a rise
to the shadows.
a consistency
to the chasing.
a repetition
to the tension.
a coldness
to the blankets.
a darkness that stays.
© Hudson Biko
Photograph by Jesús Rocha
hudson biko 