magic series: inside out…

inside outSo many bodies,

so many hands that have touched.

Clambering to get away.

It’s like looking in a mirror.

All around me. These faces.

They don’t stop gazing. Looking.

Running doesn’t help.

Climbing walls to get away.

They are already in.

Groping.

Reaching. For me.

Inside.

Scrubbing doesn’t help.

Forgetting doesn’t work.

Climbing walls to get away.

Bordering on music.

I stop there.

Afraid to carry on.

Scared this beastly creation

would leave my body.

Exhausted. I toss and turn.

Tortured by visions

of where I should be.

The lies told to the minds which choose to believe them.

Sometimes we think we know what we want.

Then we get into situations that we believe resemble what we want.

As time goes, and we start exploring what we are in, we realise it’s not quite where we want to be.

Maybe we have changed our minds.

Want more.

Want less.

She is lying on your chest now.

Her body supposedly in this moment.

Her mind, however, is fighting demons.

Trying to forget the one before you

She lies there. Hoping your body will transport her, for a while.

She moans and groans. Hoping to drown any thoughts of him.

The other person in this room.

She needed a place to stay tonight.

Too soon to have another body in her bed.

Hasn’t even had a chance to change pillows from the last time.

She lets you touch her preciousness.

She feels nothing. But wants to you carry on regardless.

Tears streaming down her face.

The embarrassment.

He puts his hand on her chin.

Lifts up her face up till their eyes meet.

She believes what is there. 

Deep down in shallow pools of brightness,

As she tries to wash away the sad spread between her legs.

She hides behind her hands.

Her eyes cannot take the brightness.

She opens her mouth to protest.

Nothing comes out. She retreats.

He keeps on coming towards her.

His arms stretched towards her.

The brightness. 

‘Heaviness is shattering. Colour is lost in its folds’, these thoughts don’t leave her. 

She needed somewhere to pass time. 

No need for pity.

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interlude: scratch my soul

disclaimer: when i initially drafted this post (many weeks ago – writer’s procrastination had me bad that month). now there have been way too many incidentssoul_use this of violence against women, way too many names to remember… however, the words of this poem still echo how i felt a few years ago when i wrote this poem.

the recent uproar (of very minor proportions) about the 2013 AFCON’s statement on women and witching and not being allowed to sit in certain spots in stadiums, reminded me of a poem i wrote many moons ago.

now, this poem was meant for a women’s issue of a poetry anthology on rape. yes, rape, i know… it reminded me of rape because like rape, such statements, speak of far deeper societal problems. the idea of being violated and being told what to do, how to behave, what to wear, what NOT to wear, when to speak, when to sit down…the list goes on and on… does all of this change me? who i am? what i can be?

Scratch my soul
 
Look for me in the sentences, between the words
Of every newspaper article or news clip
I felt my essence as they were mutilating my beautiful body,
Stretching my oven of hope
A passage only the one I love is supposed to possess
Why, my brother, so much anger against your own
Look me straight in the eye so you can see the damage your raging loins are making you do
My soul weeps for my robbed innocence, violence in pursuit of my soul
Antiretrovirals, emergency pills – precautions only after
My bones and skin still ache where they groped
Skirt soiled with your useless seed
What a shame.
Incestuous invasions by father on daughter
Mama where were you
Did I not cry loud enough?
Give me a drug of forgetfulness, of forgiveness
Oh, Jehovah help their empty souls
My heart safely tucked beneath my ribcage,
Far out of their violent reach
They can only scratch the surface of my soul
But they’ll never own it

 

 

 

just write, right?

often when i have to write something (often with a hectic deadline) and words will choose that just writeexact moment to escape me.. ideas dodge my shadow.. i enter a room, they exit.

i brood over it. ponder it. count the hours. work out my days around this deadline. this looming thing. i write and scratch it out immediately.

sometimes, i clean my bedroom. hoping to bump into something that pokes something that will hopefully turn into an idea. i waste a LOT of time on the internet, looking at stuff. my own stuff, other people’s stuff. and still, nothing on my page.

so, what is a person to do in such a state?

i usually go back to the notes or words i have been collecting about said piece… write them down in no particular order. read them from the beginning. let whatever thoughts come to me fill up the spaces between those words. then i go back to reading it all again. add some more. then read it from the beginning again. listening for a pattern. that one thing that should be the introduction. i play air puzzle with it in my head. sooner or later, it comes. the order. the clincher. and when i read it from the beginning again. it makes sense. the way it should have been right from the start. usually, this takes less than 2 hours… while i would have wasted days procrastinating… fearing the blank page (and that looming deadline)….