feel.
the whisper
of the wind.
and the splatter
of the sea.
touch.
the flutter
of the wings.
or the scatter
of the song.
witness.
the sky
as it breaks.
for days
on end.
take in.
all
of the ways.
the earth feels.
and ache
© Hudson Biko
by Hudson Biko
feel.
the whisper
of the wind.
and the splatter
of the sea.
touch.
the flutter
of the wings.
or the scatter
of the song.
witness.
the sky
as it breaks.
for days
on end.
take in.
all
of the ways.
the earth feels.
and ache
© Hudson Biko
cover the rooms
in scars.
leave your sadness
on the mirrors.
paint
the walls
in crimson.
swallow your
h(u/ea)rt
whole
presenting my second chapbook, the room with the red walls:
a few excerpts:
we were sitting
on the dinner table.
listening to the songs.
the words
wove
off the curve
of the glass.
the sun was low.
the room
was bright.
the shatter
was quiet
//
it was summer
there is a way
the sky
sheds
its grief
that
i
am longing for
//
set
do you listen
to the stories
and believe
in their endings.
in the suns
that set.
and the moons
that rise.
and the stars
that shine.
because
it is so dark
//
hope
missed you all. missed this. deeply.
© Hudson Biko. 2021. All Rights Reserved.
–
there’s a comfort in knowing that after a there is b and c. that
after one there is two and three. that there is certainty
amongst uncertainty. that we can at least hold on
to a few things. and that sometimes :
those things stay.
© Hudson Biko
Photograph: Sam Burriss
Internal inclinations push against
walls slowly cracking
amidst faltering
endurance.
Calling it
:
patience.
© Hudson Biko
Photograph: Annie Spratt