A Conditional Sense of Community
The window is opened,
But the curtains are closed,
‘Bare necessities!’ sung the cartoon bear on the TV.
Sticking out from afar, the four fingers watch me,
On the lookout for defectors.
Gradually spiralling downwards,
My hands and feet are not the tricksters,
My mind’s the culprit,
Semi-comatose I do as it pleases.
Were we merely allies on restricted dancing grounds?
Tremors lurk under this thought-out escape route by tightrope,
Will luck tip in my favour beyond the expected destination,
Dripping sweat, a slippery near miss.
Eyes leak a salty sea, my only ocean view.
I anxiously hum to the internal drumming,
As my qualms swing to and fro.
A narrator to my nonsense,
An erratic pendulum of agreeables and don’ts.
The Masking Nomad
You whistle for a ride,
That wagon you once refused to board,
You finally see what a great passenger you could be.
Greeted with a shiny doorknob,
Your pride and bitterness screams.
Yesterday a plethora of laughs pierced your doubtful, fragile bubble,
Sharp critical pointy fingers, side-eyes and smug grins,
Hit you from all angles.
Not yet fluent in the popularly spoken lingo,
Communicating instead with fragments of borrowed traits
That you’d gather up like firewood,
Hoping people would warm to your efforts.
You peeled off your restrictive layers,
And exchanged your cloak and dagger
For a Hi-Viz neon vest,
You whistle for a ride away,
The wagon you once refused to board,
You see now what a great passenger you’ll try to be.
Taking a Distant Stand
Supposed dissident sun,
You circle on calendars, marches you’ll never march.
With your forced rebellious tendencies,
You wish to free the many conformity has imprisoned,
All from a bird’s-eye view.
Despising a worldly existence,
While painting placards on your palace lawn.
Attempting to impersonate altruistic past leaders.
Documented by a million lenses,
You stand still,
As an undaunted army,
Marches and passes you by.
Mind Slapping
The indicator to usher in change has sounded
My tired & shivering arms won’t give in just yet.
Wobble as they may.
I’ll rise early tomorrow to a darkened ceiling of grey,
And I will hold my breath.
I won’t inhale the left-over smog,
Left behind from the speeding tracks of the lucky few ahead of me.
I won’t wait to be chosen.
Fate can be a wheel with an arrow
Always stopping to garnish the lives of others
I’ll throw my hat in this worldly race once more.
Penniless & bold I’ll bare it all.
Their eyes can glance up as my hat hits the ground.
Today, I am illiterate in the act of self doubt.
Tone deaf to the siren sounds of defeat.
ABOUT THE ARTIST
Mirvat Manal is a British/Somali fiction writer & poet. Her work has been published in The Leon Literary Review, Maudlin House, Querencia Press, Brittle Paper and elsewhere. She has also been included in the Best New British & Irish Poets Anthology 2021. Mirvat is currently working on her debut novel.
@mirvatmanal
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