not for what
our eyes see;
the pain that
our heart knows.
I gaze through the window,
outside the light begins to fade
the sky has deepened,
from pale blue to darker blueish grey,
with patches of purple indigo and orange
then it swiftly goes black;
the days’ curtain closes
but I don’t draw my curtains
nor do I turn on the light
I stand here,
high up the 21st floor,
allowing the square glow
from the computer and TV
to light up the room,
as I gaze at the winking taillights
of commuters rushing home;
juxtaposed with people
whose strides have slowed to less hurrying pace
Yet as I take in the pockets of scene before me
the repetitive drone of the news on TV
channel my thoughts to another scene
in another place, at another time;
unfolding in my harassed imagination,
conjuring images of frantic panic
of horrified pandemonium
as gunshots spewed from the window
in rapid fire at innocent lives
blown down by hate,
their painful screams still stuck in their throat
eyes frozen in disbelieving shock
their startled spirits jumped out in a hasty exit
as their curtain falls with eyelids squeezed shut;
the streets run with blood, yet we covet the gun
returning to our sanctuaries, we sigh and pray in mourning,
and wait for the next massacre.
When society develops apathy to the ills found in its midst, the value of the life of its citizenry diminishes.
Depression is a silent enemy. It steals in to steal from you.
i’ve walked the fringes of darkness
where i felt the hard blunt bleakness of pain
and the stark reality of depression,
where i’ve queried the essence of life
in the time of such deep despair.
i’ve been beaten, molested and left to die,
i’ve stared death in the face many a times,
but only one whisper
kept me hanging on to the thread;
hope, that one day
this too shall pass,
and in the midst of hope
let my life be a lamp.
There’s nothing to romanticize about depression! It’s not a good place to be. Take it from me.
I took a stroll to clear my head.
Going down the Marina, under the bridge to a quiet spot.
In a dark corner, a slight movement startled me out of my thoughts.
The sight that drew my eyes made me sick to my insides.
I had shut down the disheartening news of Manchester
wondering when humanity would recover its senses,
only to come across this one.
I am no different from this little baby.
except that I am an older duck
We are all loving beings that value our lives
and it hurt.
It hurt me to watch this young one
who hasn’t even grown to the prime of her quacks
It hurt to watch her entrails hanging out
to hear her distressed cries of pain
I can’t figure out what could have caused it
what could have brought so much pain
even when I tried to draw close
she just kept drawing away in fear.
I cried. I suddenly broke down into huge gulping sobs.
My mind went to the young children,
senselessly killed in Manchester.
Now this baby duck!
I wished I have all the healing skills
that could patch this one and put it back together again
For several moments, I didn’t like myself
I didn’t like the fact that I didn’t know what to do
That I just watched helplessly
just like we are all watching these senseless killings helplessly
I whisper a sigh of prayer for these young souls.
I whisper a well-wish. In this moment,
I just don’t like humans.
Today I struggle to find joy because I feel sick to the pit of my stomach.
There are days that one wakes up and your faith in humanity is shaken to the core, but in the raging storm lies a quiet voice that whispers to my soul.
The arm of flesh will surely fail you if you look to things that are transient. Keep your eye’s on the things that satisfy that no man can take away. It’s normal to want everything to go as we would like in our lives and around us and a lot of times it fails to go that way.
May we find the strength to hold on to things far more tangible that our souls may remain in a state of gratitude. For even in trying times, the goodness of the Lord will prevail.
Today, I struggle to shake off the foreboding of the dark clouds that paint the horizon…
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
‘PLEASE KEEP SENDING IN THE LINKS.’
Today’s featured blogs posts are:
Sorrow most private affair: How private is one’s sorrow? Should it be kept hidden in the dark shadows? Should it be shared?
A prayer for those who suffer: Please READ! A beautiful, fragile, sad and heartfelt prayer. To all of us…
A writer and her inspiration: We all have been through the writing mental block one way or the other. How do you find your inspiration? Do share your wisdom please.
The One: An ambitious poem that made me smile. I wonder if such love is possible? You be the judge.
Today’s smiles: Let’s kickstart the week with random lovely photos 🙂
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Thank you for your understanding and regards.
I hear the reverberations of the magic that’s hidden within.
She was just tired of being rejected and tired of feeling hungry. No one wanted to employ a disturbed woman, no job lasted long enough.
She was tired of living and feeling like a slob and simply wanted to feel good and look good like everyone else.
The handout that she received was barely anything to get by, that the thought of living and walking the streets began to look appealing, but she needed the right clothes to attract customers.
Stepping into the changing stall, she layered up on several items of the boutiques clothing and headed for the exit.
The shrill beep of the alarm sent the security scurrying forward as they matched her into a room for further investigation.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
When you buy my book, you support me in an invaluable manner.
She is amazing at describing love and life in her poems. She creates such beautiful images with her words. Truly, she is a talented writer and I’m so excited to have her poetry book and to continue reading through it.
He was not fearless.
As a matter of fact
he was always filled with trepidation.
Yet he always found the courage
that galvanized his actions.
He walked into the burning house
and grabbed the little child.
He knew his soul would haunt him forever
if they burnt to death.
Never again he said to himself.
The memory of his mother
and his little brother
forever seared in his mind.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
Fearless, The Daily Post
Image credit: Pixabay.com