…and if I stay silent

will they take that against me?

Will that be received

with closed fists, raised eyebrows,

and a spiteful heart?

It’s okay, they say, to be sad.



You are allowed this moment of brokenness.

But on their way home, when the rains come,

they scramble for umbrellas or the shade

of building lobbies

and forgot that as children

they danced to the rhythms

of the joyous beat

pulsating in their bloodstream.



Twenty years ago,

the rain was cleaner and as children

we were stronger and more daring.

Twenty years ago,

I knew nothing of sickness like this;

of this sort of deterioration.

I have always wanted to be


a towering tree full of rings,

if cut open;


knowing the secret language of the ocean

and of the mountains and the clouds;


like tears of joy,


in its falling.



I have always wanted to be

everything that I was promised

when I was born, naked and pure,

bloodied and crying,

bursting with life,

a world’s fire in the palm

of my hand

and an unending


in my eyes.

I am none of this.

Halfway through my journey,

I’ve met the perils of ageing

and I’ve come to know entropy

and the inevitable…


This is sadness.

Will you allow this of me?

Grieving is accepting.

And will you accept that it’s done?

I’m done.


You do not accept?

Then I am not allowed to grieve.


The sun rises and the sun sets just like it always does.

At any time, the sunlight

casts shadows where it gently falls

on all my broken parts

left scattered

here and there.

Like a child,

all grown up,

and no longer interested

in toys.


Time is a vicious cycle.

Scream, because they expect you to,

they want you to, show them

you are human,

or stay silent…

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