Caged
Trying to converse with my heart right now is like getting stuck in an elevator. Urban life has touched places within me I haven’t met before and amidst it all, I’m looking for the smallest speck of magic. This place feels dusty and urban people are so strange; everywhere I go, they see me through cracked glasses that they keep wiping anyway. Amidst it all, I show up as the real me. Some are inspired, others are jealous while another category is just angry.
I dare not to look too deep into my heart right now. I imagine every self-inflicted disappointment, every moment of unresolved generational anger, and every time I drink from the fountain of sorrow adding just another hole into the grand, long, majestic metal grater that has now a bit too much of my blood in its ‘’hand’’. I dare not to converse with my heart right now. When I turn inwards, I fear slipping into the horrors made in the chamber of my mind every time I give in. Amidst it all, I’m left picking up the pieces that have fallen into my ribcage and I wonder if this is all part of the so-called human complexity. Finally, I come to the resolution that hearts are the strongest organ; I’d be no more had it quit on me every time I had it broken.
This longing is stronger than the longer, and the loneliness is revolting. My hands are as calloused as they can be but I don’t think myself away from writing this story whose ending I can only be. I’m the beginning and I’m the finality. The longer, however, half-sober is swaying in a street crowded with lost souls and unfulfilled carnal desires. Their longing is so strong and so big that what they long for has become an idea, a metaphor that transcends what they were longing for in its original form …
-Imane Ben
Author’s note:
This is my first attempt at writing poetic prose. Please let me know what you think and if you want more of this type of content. Until next time, be gentle. Thank you,
