sometimes i wish
i could open
the doors
without thinking
that they
would always
leave through
the windows.
sometimes i wish
more things stayed.
© Hudson Biko
Photograph by Martin Reisch
Tag: Poetry
hanging
the wind whistles
through the empty
branches. the leaves
are few and far between.
but still there.
hanging.
its weird isn’t it?
that the things we look at
can also
feel exactly like we do.
© Hudson Biko
Photograph by Thomas Claeys
drowning.
caskets
the caskets are open.
the eyes have watched.
the voices have spoken.
the blood has run.
the veins are now empty.
the eyes shut.
the voices quiet.
still,
years later,
the suffering continues.
© Hudson Biko
Photograph by Priscilla Du Preez
it always waits I
it always waits.
long enough
for me to begin
to forget.
to have
a semblance
of certainty
in a new reality
where things are slightly better.
normal, maybe.
long enough
so my eyes
can collapse
into dreams
bursting at the seams
with what seems
to be tranquility.
long enough
to feel as though
it was long enough
ago
and i can finally
let go.
until it stops waiting.
© Hudson Biko
Photograph by Annie Spratt
hudson biko 