A Confession and a Continuation: Day Eleven and Day One

The Eleventh of April, 2018.

There is no reason to start today. Therefore, I shall.

I wrote those two lines just after midnight last night, because I’d had enough of nothing. Then, almost as expected, came the ringing call with the last syllable of my name draaaaaaaaaaaaawn out, for the seventh time in twenty minutes, from the living room. My father, summoning me again, to hand him a black pen from the table four feet to his left.

The reason I stopped writing. The reason I stopped ‘stopped writing’.

Over the last year, the frequency of my posts has slowed down. The longer I am at home, the lesser time I am ‘alotted’ for myself. The nearly overwhelming feelings of uselessness, stagnation, and mental decay I struggle with, while being told how useless I am, what a failure I am, all of these words, have been taking large bites out of the words I wanted to write. The words I am kept being pushed back, and back, and further back, till they stopped trying to come out.

I stopped writing, because I couldn’t. I stopped trying to write, because I couldn’t. Even that little time of me for myself, was taken away. August became November became April. I don’t know what I have done these last few months. It was probably nothing. Because these last few months, I have felt nothing.

I have been a nothing. I think I am a nothing now. When not a complete nothing, at least a little nothing.

I turned twenty eight. I resolved my citizenship issue. I studied for exams I won’t be writing. I played surrogate housekeeper and peacemaker and resident doormat at home. I did what  I always did- take blame. Take responsibility for actions that weren’t mine. Handle the mood swings of the people supposedly my elders. I played nursemaid and resentful grateful. I played parts and roles and forgot my face when I slept at night.

This time last year, I was a doctor with no country to belong to, and no civil rights to speak of. I have to wonder, which the more nothing was. The one where I didn’t belong, and was? Or the one where I belong, but am not.

One nothing is not like the other.

One nothing was emptier.

I woke up yesterday afternoon. I was walking to the supermarket, and I stopped on the sidewalk, holding eggs and a liter of milk, and I woke up. I could feel cobwebs fluttering in my mind, regurgitating uninspired remnants of something I wish I’d written down, even if it was only some angry words of choice. Words, as it turns out, are important. I stopped speaking and that didn’t matter, but  I stopped writing, and I forgot how to breathe out. It was choking me. I woke up yesterday, and I exhaled. I sat down last night, and wrote the two lines at the top of this page. Then I was called away. Like I was called away in this moment, to call someone up, when the phone was next to him. The difference between today and every other day before this, at least in the last six months, was that I came back.

Because not writing had been hurting me so long that I’d stopped realising the source of this particular pain. Because I am my words, and maybe that’s the only existence I have, the only trace I’ll leave behind in a world where I am told that I AM NOTHING at least twice a day, where I’m so inconsequential, that I’ve taken to feeding crows for some company. I was staring at the calendar while writing checks for my father this morning, and it dawned upon me that ten days of NaPoWriMo had passed already. This is the first year that I missed it, since I started blogging. But not in its entirety. Not just yet.

This nothing’s still got something left. I warn you that it’s old. It’s everything I’ve said multiple times before, but I will say it again, even if only to say it.

I will not stop saying it. Even if takes a calendar and a dim reminder for cement bills to be paid on the fifteenth of April to do it. Every time that I forget, I will remember.

And I will write. Even if I’m writing old nothings, I’ll write.

A Little Nothing     

I am a Nothing,
or so I’m told
A waste of space that’s
twenty eight years old

I’m a big Zero
They like to repeat
I’m worth less than
the food I eat

They call me buffalo
They don’t use my name
I don’t mind anymore, I
answer just the same

My mealtimes are totalled
in calories
I’m given a thousand more
than necessary.

But like a good girl
I clean my whole plate
Wash everyone’s dishes
but not my own face

I wear wrinkled clothes and
don’t comb my hair
So that men don’t notice
a woman’s even there

I keep my voice down
I act like I’m dead
I’m quiet and bitter
I’m words in my head

I’m a little nothing
short and stout
Here are my fingers
Here is my mouth

Hands longing to be held
Lips that no longer kiss
Rusty rhyme and stagnation
A throatful of risks

I’m a little nothing
As I’m often told
An ugly little cow
forgotten fourfold

They like to pretend
that they can’t see
Except that I know
They’re afraid of me

That I’ll walk out
That I’ll realise
My chains lie in pieces
I’m in sight of my prize

I keep my head down
I work, and I watch
One day they’ll fall careless
And I’ll be gone

And I won’t even care
If they never see
I was and always will be
Something
Something free

Yusra
11.04.2018

Day Eleven of NaPoWriMo. I won’t stop writing.

I love  you all. ❤

-Yusra

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fireflies.jpg

 

 

She had her hands wrist deep in mud

Her fingers worried some lost root
That had the owner breathless, caught
The flowers grew misshapen, blue
The air in their gasping mouths, taut
Lines of leaves dying in vain,
Holding no sustenance, the tree
Was dying, rotting inside out,
She knelt at its graveside, to free

The tendril of forgotten life
That somewhere in its belly coiled
I found her, hands wrist deep in mud
Pale face streaked damp with hopeful soil
That harbored yet an aching cry
No one had stopped, no one had heard
This lone slip of a girl had stopped
Forlorn on her way, and turned

I touched her shoulder and she stilled
Had she not, frenzied, seen me come?
Her quivering lip gave me answer
Blind eyes, whimpering lips struck dumb
A milky stare that I could look through
A mind of endless blackened depths
But for its confused rolling mass of sensation
Less, not more lightless

I reached a finger to her face
I passed through her, I took her with
The tree would stand, as is, dying,
No more dead tomorrow, and no less
This jewel in the tattered smock
Babbling, incoherent beggar girl
Glowed like an ember in gray dust
She deserved more than this lost world

I took her home, across the veil
As her feet grew into the tree
The next one to stop to help her
Next worthy of my love will be
For now, her fingers dance in clay
That grows itself along her veins
The lidless stare shines benevolent
As queen on her new throne she reigns

What am I but a collector?
A bored god seeking shiny stones
Stray bits of burning humanity
To flesh the rock of my cold home
All the beautiful ones live here
Small goddesses, nurtured and loved
That I could save from that lost mass
of meat and thought I’ve no use of

I am but almost all entombed
Cut off by these walled in souls who
Are all I’ll take to my slumber
These invisible beautiful women, too
Fragile to leave on that cold earth
Amidst the hungry, ravenous beasts
Monsters I am too tired to fight
Creatures I’ve abandoned to their feasts

I am surrounded by fireflies
The last dredges of purity
The chipped pieces of my images
That hold vestiges of mercy
Each one I loved, each one I saved,
Each one who in turn now save me,
Each one who stopped one a rainy night
To help a scared, suffocating tree

Fireflies on the Walls

c. Yusra

05.11.2017

 

 

 

Image credit: Imgur : https://imgur.com/vDvgp8I

 

 

Day Sixteen- Weighted Breaths

Day sixteen – Weighted Breaths, for th and prompt, ‘balloons shaped like anchors’. 

We’re in the second half already! How time flies!

How’s your April going?

Noms, 

Yusra ❤️

Duet Duel!

Me and Jaeger over at ohellino.wordpress.com are having a duet duel! For this, we post on each other’s blogs till a winner is decided! I’m about to send him my first repartee, but before I do that, here is Jaeger’s opener!

 

 

I soft bellow sweet

In sunset so yellow teeth

Gone spent by

Like doubt

Running motifs dry

I soft bellow sweet

And open my rib cage

In a lot all neat

As alone as poem

I remove my heart

To go at the world smitten

With cool art

As telling or show it

A tiny poem written

By a timid poet

And I soft bellow sweet

A told response rest

To pass a good test

And work at living

Before my unwanted death

 

(c)ohellino

 

 

Be sure to check in for my response! The midweek madness begins! 😀