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

 

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

 

haunted

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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