Anger is another person inside me.
A boy with festering pimples, scraping the walls.
Carrying unhloy waters that boil in steaming red.
Spilling and scalding the bare.
He is sprouting fast, and reaching for my veins.
Every noon, he is asleep yet a storm rises slowly.
His snores are dark music that well up waiting for an eruption.
Regret is his sister, lurking at the shadows of my eyes.
Leaving the scattered memories on the canvas that breathe sepia, brown, dust.
Her muse ache with fatigue.
This is what my Mother taught me, to tame the boy with her ever glowing songs.
To paint soaring colours of purple, splashes of beauty and pride.
To bore a hole in time and hide
Feed the boy with strength and the rhymes that comes from the sky.
Watch him sober, weaken, slacken with seasons.
Meet Regret on the walkways of reason, seduce her with faith.
Hold her wrists with courage and dare to dissolve her with the Sun that sets.
And never rises.
In your moment of undoing, she said.
Bury your face into your palms to embrace the wild.
Embrace the quiet
And birth the prayers that will last for generations.
Listen to the pulse of your fathers, mothers that trod, it echoes.
They will fade and you will live another day.
You will live another day.