You came through
dormant minds
that gave way
to realities
nonexistent
In the existence
of everything
we weren’t
And you stared
through beating hearts
that played out to spurts
of light
amongst eternities
of darkness
And I played out to
7.17 AM
–
Morning
© Hudson Biko
Photograph: Allef Vinicius
We watched them
gradually emerge
from submerged
pots
that held all sorts
of realities
in microcosms
magnifying
our darkness
against a spectrum
of hope
and benevolence
and we couldn’t take it
© Hudson Biko
Photograph: Naomi Tamar
Inspired by the Daily Prompt: Blossom
We’re always going. From beds to coffee shops, to offices, places and spaces that constitute fragments of our sustenance. To crawling cars at half past four. To homes that take us back at the end of it. To dinner tables. To beds. To all of it. All over again.
Stuck in this constant grind. Moving towards our perceptions of success. Of satisfaction in a world that looks like it might move past us if we’re half past it. If we aren’t doing everything we think we’re meant to be doing. If we don’t get out of the bed to begin with.
And most times that’s part and parcel of our our own internal movement to something greater. Understanding and chasing our dreams and aspirations – even on the mornings we rather not.
But sometimes we can’t really do that.
Sometimes we can’t really go.
Maybe ‘can’t’ isn’t the right word. Because parts of us know that we have in the past. Because parts of us want to with every fibre that makes them, them. Because we’ve been told that the world doesn’t know the word “can’t” – that it moves on without us. That we can’t be left behind.
Maybe there is no right word that truly encapsulates those moments of apparent immobility. Because they feel exactly like that. Like drinking out of empty coffee mugs. Like the cars crawling. Like standing still in a world that moves past us.
But everything that surrounds us exists irrespective of us.
We are our own microcosm of a universe.
Made of everything that makes us. Of action and inaction. Of mobility and immobility. Of moments.
And in those moments when we stop to breathe, when we stand still to take in the world that surrounds and lives within us, we find our own little coffee shops.
Each facilitating parts of our own unique journey. Each making that next step that much greater. Each forming our own internal satisfaction.
Each and every one of them shaping our own microcosm of a universe. All over again.
Written By: Hudson Biko
Previously published by Thought Catalog at www.thoughtcatalog.com.
Maybe we tell
ourselves we’re
letting go
So the fibres
on the ropes
burn a little less
And maybe sometimes
they do
But the scars stay
Always.
© Hudson Biko
Photograph by Stijn Swinnen
New piece out on secretfirstdraft!
Feel free to check out some great pieces on there as well! 😊
We watched
From viewpoints
That protected us
From the repercussions
of the discussions
we never had
Thinking that the bloodshed
would never shed
onto us
If we weren’t close enough
to feel it
If we weren’t close enough
to feel close enough
But we were
We felt all of it
Pouring down
in shades
of blue
and transparency
Reflecting everything
that we weren’t
Because those viewpoints never protected us
They showed us everything.
hudson biko 