I wake to find my world draped in existential grey, a shroud I wear like a second skin.
A sudden sharp chill jolted me to my senses
Must have fallen asleep watching a movie again
Something familiar
My life story replaying on the screen
Reality hits hard as I took off the headset
Bare naked on this stainless steel table
Tugging away those tubes and wires attached
Others are lying still on the tables
Probably a hundred of them in here
In this massive detention
My legs gave way and I hit the floor hard
I must have been unconscious for too long
Dragging myself over with all my might
To the small window at the corner
It’s a desert outside perimeter by walls
In a faraway distance
Not sure how far is it
Probably take me days to reach it
Feeling lost
How do I comprehend this
What should I do?
Do I go back to sleep like the rest?
Surviving through what they are feeding us?
Do I make a run towards the end?
Climb over the wall and face whatever is behind it?
Will it be even worse than my current state?
Uncertainties lie ahead… What will you do?
Trapped in this monotonous shit day in day out
Do you stay because of its certain degree of stability
and you are used to it and you are afraid of changes?
Do you throw caution to the wind and start anew?
©Emika Oka
Thank you for reading 🖤
Previously published on From The Corner of My Mind
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About the Creator
Mika Oka
Sharing her unique perspective on the world as a hearing-impaired autistic person with bipolar disorder despite the challenges.
https://ko-fi.com/emikaoka
A Flower Song
Apparently the Aztecs, Toltecs, Chichimecs and other Mexica were crazy about poetry. Despite the book-burning, slaughter, and epidemics that characterized the early stages of the Spanish conquest of the empires of Mexico, some hundreds of poems from the height of their tradition come down to us in Classical Nahuatl, preserved by Nahua and Spanish scholars of the 16th century. One of the most famous poets, Nezahualcoyotl, was a sage-king who opposed the cult of human sacrifice associated with Tezcatlipoca, God of the Smoking Mirror, and favored Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Serpent. Flowers and feathers were the favorite offering of the Plumed Serpent. Moreover, flowers and feathers are a metaphor for poetry. Individual words, scattered petals, the down of tropical birds. The temples of blood sacrifice could be transformed into temples of flower and song. A sublimated offering to the Heart of Earth and the Heart of Sky encapsulated in the Classical Nahuatl kenning for poetry: in xōchitl in cuīcatl, meaning, "the flower and the song." The following poem is part of a longer work, and is in a state of flux, so take the waters as they flow:
By Rob Angeli3 days ago in Poets
Comments (3)
There was darkness with hope for light at the end of the tunnel in this poem. Nice one!
This was so poignant and emotional. Loved your poem!
Emotional and written beautifully! Love your poem! 💌