Poetry – Page 24 – hudson biko

air

The air is still.

The voices are quiet.

The madness is peace.

It is getting easier to breathe now.

Photograph by David Fanuel

Sometimes I find solace
in the arms of
tomorrows.
Calling it:
Hope.

— Biko (@pb_hb_) January 10, 2018

I guess when someone does something

enough times you think that

they’ll always fill those spaces.

Until someone else does.

I watch days dissipate

from maelstroms of insouciant realities

as hours turn into days

and those into months

of falling leaves

from autumn trees

that give way

to years

and those to lifetimes

diluted into an infinity of others that existed before us

As I stay silent in these corrugated lines

living in this paradox of mobility and immobility

that feel like days

stuck in cassettes

re-winded and played again

Before brief moments

of sanity

and clarity

emerge to play out to a microcosm

of a living universe

And maybe that’s what freedom

ever really is

Being able to feel existent

amongst eternities of madness

Photography by Luke Besley