In the most complex moments, the best language available is poetry. It’s hard not to consider events, global or local, from wars to socio-cultural/ethnic injustices, and remain grounded; poetry is especially good at opening up spaces for grey areas, for tough areas, for those spots that ache. On the most basic level, I’m talking about something as rampant and universal as “life’s challenges”, both on macro and micro levels (the range is huge: from struggling to pay bills to battling violence). This poem emerges out of such reflections and dwells at that point of struggle. Sometimes, it’s healing just to acknowledge those trembling, wobbly spaces.
“This World”
For weeks my shell
has been cracking,
mouthing a dream
I may never understand
my heart as heavy
as the last violence
on youth, the capture
of each person’s solitude,
abrasions,
We are the dark children
in the dark cupboard,
stewing,
as wild as ants
sniffing the promise
of the sugar jar
around the bend.
I have tried to be safe
in this world
bright green trees
finally offer nothing
now especially after
their beheading.
Somebody feeds
their way in and insists
we are rejecting
what we have accepted.
Our safety belongs to the stars.
We could not make it
out of simple mud
and conversation.
No training in civilisation
can help us here,
nothing we can do
will help us create
except our own salt,
salt, I hear, heals,
then there is the salt
of the world.
I have tried
My God
I have tried.
Gather our salt,
it stings, hisses,
brings the dark stuff
out.
Gather our salt,
let the grief spill
out.
Try and try keep try-
ing.