It transcends into empty skies.
As we watch
the same birds
that flew
in the tranquility
of their emptiness
Sink
into
the same
spaces
that used to hold them
Sink
into
a canvas
that was never painted
Sink
into
oceans
that didn’t mind holding them
As we try
to hold onto
everything
that began letting
us go.
© Hudson Biko
Photograph: Koushik Das
Choking I: http://wp.me/s8iCv2-choking
It transcends into empty skies.
its remnants
morphing
from
singularities
of near nothingness
and intangibility
to
clouds of grey
choking
us
in concoctions
comprised
of
reluctance
and
petulance
As we sit here
staring.
© Hudson Biko
Photograph: Petra Brydlova
Choking II: http://wp.me/p8iCv2-1cM
Tik toks
replaced by beating hearts
playing out
to a microcosm
of a universe.
© Hudson Biko
Photograph: Khürt Williams
You feel it in the air sometimes
lingering
in its repetition
In its own rendition
of the sound
made by
swarms
of bees
Buzzing
In hives
that survive
the strands
of time
In time
Still stinging
and ringing
In metaphorical ears
that even after
all these years
Still
kinda
sound the same
Still
kinda
feel the same
Maybe slightly kinder
to ears
less fragile
after years
of buzzing
But the stings
never heal
No,
those ones stay
Those ones
linger
Morphing into
what we try
to be
Those ones
become
our own rendition
of the bee
that once stung
And maybe that’s all we ever really needed
Maybe that’s our buzz
© Hudson Biko
Photograph: Annie Spratt
the constellations disappear
behind backdrops
of raindrops
and tranquility
As raindrops
of light drop
fleetingly
into an infinity
of darkness
In patches
that patch
us
together
;
As drops of tranquility
pour amongst patches
of darkness
in patches
of our own infinity
,
as constellations appear.
© Hudson Biko
hudson biko 