Beneath the veil

My fantasy fades
As the stories flow
From the innocent
lips of the wounded.

To normalize a horror story
that repeats itself,
some call it the news
but for so many refugees
it is just their reality.

A buddhist would say
without suffering,
we would not be this way -
human that is.

But many do not have to wear
the scars of their suffering
on their cheeks,
or bodies.
A wire lashing
or knife attack.

When the pregnant child
with a toddler by her side,
stared at me through hardened eyes
and told me a tale
of the traumatised;
A father who raped her
A husband who fled
A mother who shunned her
And left her for dead.

Listening to the wounds
of the stateless
first brought tears to my eyes
But it has since become,
normalized.

Light workers
in a dark room
in a dark world
like the monsoon
that ruthlessly falls
on bare trees

Such is nature,
such is life
and Ignorance is bliss.
But when the veil lifts
the light either blinds
or you pull down the blinds
or wear tinted lenses
to protect your eyes
from the fateful moment
that you realize,
the screen before
through which you saw
was made of real.lies.

Perspective shifted,
veil lifted.

In.sight

It has the world surging at its fingertips,
so lost in the movement,
their gazes stay down,
their lips locked
as the paper flutters by.

With tired eyes,
the small things in life,
become pure bliss.
An exchange takes place through the pigeon hole,
they pass me the black liquid,
enclosed in a neat cardboard cup,
I hold it in my hands, mm.
I love that smell,
the fuel that drives
the machine.

They wave me off
& thank me by name,
a personal touch,
to this anonymous game.

We wear uniforms by day,
that must be ironed out at night,
for if those shirts have any creases,
you would look a disheveled sight!
I quite enjoy this dress up game,
even though we all look exactly the same.
Looking smart has an effect,
it makes you feel together
& grants you respect.
But sometimes I do wonder,
whether these collars are buttoned up
too
tight.
And maybe it's stopping us from being able to breathe alright?

What if one day,
you wake up in the middle of the night,
gasping for air,
looking for the light.
You see your position,
in this repetitive dream
& you no longer wish
to be a part of the machine...

As you sit amongst the breathless,
surging forward yet feeling stuck,
you can feel a storm brewing,
it is beginning in your gut.

Your gaze snaps up to their faces,
they stare down at their screens,
you try to change direction,
shifting away from mainstream.

But now you're moving against the current,
you're blocking the flow,
there's no one to follow...
where would you go?

Outside of the station stands a tall,
oak tree,
still and unmoving,
perfect stability.

They continue walking passed,
picking up the pace,
for there is no time to slow down
in this incessant rat race.
From the weak day
to the weak end
your mind's beginning to falter,
you feel it beginning to bend...

Despite being granted those 2 days of rest,
it is beginning to prove hard to stand the test
of patience,
of submission,
to the daily grind.
You have looked up now,
you have made up your mind.
You desire free movement and change,
creativity begins to unearth the strange.
So you follow that urge,
and slowly beat the surge,
falling out of the main stream,

into open water

It is still and unmoving,
like the old oak tree,
you have reconnected
and found your stability...
The storm has passed,
and now it's time,
to swim.