The Beginning of Doom
By: Khomotso Makitla
Wake up and smell the morning mist.
Though the morning offers sunshine and butterflies,
some bring sorrow mourning, I’m mourning.
A lion that hunts its own shadow dies of hunger.
This must be a gift,
being able to fit all my problems in a sealed jar.
Indeed, bottling my pain felt like the best decision
all my emotions numb and dull.
But be careful… I’m fragile.
One crack in the jar,
and screams will echo through the world,
painting it with pain.
Rain, rain, go away
that’s what I tell my tears.
Why do I feel fear, though I’m fearless?
Is my courage just a phase,
a feeling afraid of being caged?
I’m to blame
I paved the way for pain to leave its mark.
I cry a lot,
screaming my lungs out, begging for help.
But I’m a quokka
I smile though my heart is bleeding.
And my knees are proof
that in prayer, I lean.
Even though my life’s rhythm
is out of sync.
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