Bricks

We all go through darker periods when we encounter difficulties or lose hope. And sometimes society puts even more pressure on us by expecting us to behave as though everything was fine. I reached the point where I don’t want to pretend any more. I want to be open, as open as I need to be, and to confess that I am not feeling well. I am fighting a war against the haunting memories of my injuries in the past that still exert a paralysing influence on my life. But, empowered by God, I am more determined than ever to defeat the dark forces, and to leave my past behind for ever. Art is one of my weapons, and even more than that. It gives me shelter, hope and joy. So I will march through the battlefield documenting my struggle through poetry, and I won’t stop until I’ll triumph over the army of shadows. Because my faith in God makes me stronger than my enemies. And deep down I hope that one day someone will read my posts, and feel empowered to fight their own battles.

My pillow is the granite of the floor

My blanket is the starless night.

Dead time floats in the air

As flies circle around me

Like black, fat ghosts of my past

And agents of hate.

Of my undying past that alienates,

And of dark hate that destroys me.

The icy hand of silence squeezes my throat

And the war of tears is suppressed

Before it even breaks out.

In the grey fog, all thoughts are drowned,

And what remains is the prick of pain,

Ubiquitous and yet unreachable.

Sometimes a word flies towards me,

Or a snarl, or a cruel laugh.

Their weight crashes into me

Before they hit the ground

And then turn to bricks.

Bricks that build up, unprompted,

Until I am trapped behind a wall.

A wall, how curious, that is transparent!

Across the wall there beckons the promise of joy.

But here I am a prisoner

Of the bricks,

And of my own soul.