Poetry – Page 13 – hudson biko

rain

it was 3 am.

some sampha was playing.

and

the earth was still.

and

the rain was dim.

and

every so often

there was nothing that mattered

as much

letting it fall

in the curve of the moon.

in the rush of the lights.

in the loudness of the silence.

there are nights

that carry poems.

Photograph by Tom Sodoge

there's a rush to the rain. a splatter to the softness of the fall.
– a way it feels familiar.

— Biko (@pb_hb_) August 9, 2018

it was one of those days

that began with the drizzle

of the sky

half past

the turn of the morning.

with clocks that run.

and soles that chase.

and days that stop.

and souls that ask

what are we running to

Photograph by Jack Finnigan

the window is halfway open.

the sky is clear.

the leaves are rustling.

the sun is soft.

it should be easier to breathe