hearts do many wonders

they pump

mystic music

and allow others to

play our heartstrings

like a guitar.

hearts do many wonders

and mine

speaks

melodies

in my sleep

softly whispering words

to make my mind at ease.

hearts do many wonders

but you plucked my strings too hard

and you poured poison through my ear

so now all I hear are

melancholy mutterings

of “you're worthless”

drowing out

the sweet sounds

of my heart.

it whispers

“please

stop listening to those words inside your head.

i am not broken

for i still have sweet songs

begging to be heard.

please

let me do wonders.”

There are some days that I wake and breathe and the ground meets my feet. I can look at a day and smile from the shadows of the morning. There are some days that aren't as hard as I thought they should be. Or could be. Or would be.

Some days that I can't breathe. Can't focus. Can't see through the grey.

Mornings, and afternoons, and nights, when all I can do is think of the next day and how ugly my world will still be, as I stare at the cracks forming under my shaking hands.

There are mornings that are choked with guilt;

Afternoons that are drowned out by tears;

Nights that are mauled by muffled screams.

All I can manage is to wait for the next sunrise ...then sunset, wishing for everything else to disappear.

I watch the light fade.

I watch the world fade.

I watch time and myself fade.

Everything I am: a thread slipping through my fingers.

And I chase the tread and I watch it slip.

Original:

"sometimes it isn’t as hard as I thought it would be

sometimes I can lift my head in the morning

I can breath

I can smile

I can imagine the rest of the day being enjoyable

some afternoons all I want to do is cry

some afternoons all I can do is cry

I can’t breath

I can’t focus

I can see my hands tremble to reveal the internal cracks

some nights my throat is chalky with guilt

some nights I want to scream and kick

I can’t sleep

I can’t dream

I can only think of how bad it’s going to be tomorrow

some days....all I can do is wait till the sunsets

some days...all I want is for everything to disappear

I watch the sky

I watch my word

I forget time

I forget myself

because everything I am hangs on a thread slipping through my fingers

and all I do is spend my time chasing the thread

and watching it slip from my fingers"

I want a conversation that speaks to the soul,

that leaves me thinking ,captures me whole,

give me theories and philosophies

offer opinions and summaries,

I want debates , tete-a-tetes

discourse , thought-out arguments,

real themes , solid issues

topics I can sink my teeth into,

make me sad or give me laughter

make me dwell on it two months later,

conversations to inspire awe

leaves me wanting

to come back for more...

hearts can do many things

and whatever was supposed to break mine

never did because I'm still standing

cracked and missing pieces

I still stand and my heart still works

even when I think it won't

in the dark moments when I wish it wouldnt

it beats steady bring balance to the unease

hearts can do many things

but mine hasn't broke me yet

i'm still fighting

She played her violin to the

aeolian sounds

as the wolves came out to listen.

in darkness they howled

to her dulcet tones

under the moonlight's glisten.

The camera image is clear and the screen resolution is detailed when I Skype call her; which means I can see the worry lines on her forehead and the dark circles under her eyes as clear as day and I wish there was a camera filter, popular on Snapchat or whatever the kids use nowadays, that could blur both our faces to a fuzzy cuteness -bunny ears and all.

But she's distressed again today and even over the internet, her worry is contagious. So I start to worry too. I knew quarantine would be hard for many but for my mother after spending two months cooped up in the family home, (mandated by the health service because of underlying health conditions) with an emotionally absent husband, a 30 year-old kitchen and worn out carpet, it really has taken its emotional toll.

She starts the familiar dialogue again now, the same repeated words, almost verbatim, that I've been hearing for over a week, since realizing daily calls were an absolute necessity.

"I've made so many mistakes. " She says, her voice an octave higher than normal. " I should have done better. I should have done more. I should have..."

I don't hear the rest, as the connection falters but I know how the sentence will end. Whatever decision she had made in the past, no matter how small, she was now berating herself for, mulling over, regretting , drowning herself in guilt. Any and all past decisions are used as weapons to beat herself with, and for a week now, no matter what I say or what I do, the cycle of inner turmoil is unbreakable.

"I should have listened to your dad and got the carpet changed when we had the chance. " She continues on the verge of tears.

"Don't worry about that mom. We can sort that after the lockdown. You still have so much to be grateful for." I respond, trying to inject some positive thinking.

"I know. And I can't even be grateful. I should have shown gratitude before, I should have spent more time with you kids. I should have...."

The connection pauses again and I helplessly watch her worried face, which is now pressed into her hands, freeze.

When the connection comes back, I try out a phrase I had picked up from a self-help book, about the past being a prison.

"Mom," I say kindly "the past is meant to be a lesson not a prison. We all make mistakes and it's important to learn from them and then move on. "

I watch her troubled face on the screen and wonder if the connection has frozen again. But then I realize, she's looking at the screen but not looking at me.

She's no longer present.

Her sad eyes, which once used to be full of life and had emitted a kind maternal glow; eyes that were once full of warmth, wisdom and framed with well- used laughter lines , were now distant and empty, glazed over with newly formed tears.

It wasn't the connection; she was stuck in the past again, frozen in some lost moment of time.

She was still in her prison, I realize, with a foreboding sense of sadness.

And I didn't have the tools to get her out.

A star was lifting me up.

I was seeing a new world.

God was looking at me.

He was also helping the star.

One group doing social work,

is lifting me and giving shelter

to me at a monastery.

I am feeling blessed.

Future looked like hundred

moons going around me.

All moons were giving light.

Trail of Humanity

Noone exempt from judgement and conviction in a society that holds no accountability for themselves.

Everyone watches, they wait, and then they pounce on any and every opportunity to prove themself better than the next.

No regrets, no remorse, no humanity, only judgment and convictions without mercy.

There are no victims, only prisoner's of circumstance in a society thriving on self, loss of morality, morals, and mercy for other's!

Humanity is long lost with tides of time, rolling somwhere in the darkness of the twilight zone. An alternate reality most will not survive unless conformed to the way of self and only self!

The Trial of Humanity is something you play and win, or lose and find yourself convicted and tried. We lose in end!

Game Over!

I woke up with testicles mom said with fright!

You must be mistaken, turn on the light!

I went to pee and they are dangling there, what do I do; I'm really scared?

Check again and turn on the light!

I don't need to she says; I know what testicles feel like!

Please come to my house and take a look!

Not happening mom! Give your husband back his manhood you obviously took....

This isn't a joke, I'm really scared! Besides, these can't be my husbands; his don't compare!

Mom, go to the doctor but wear his boxer briefs, you need proper support out in the heat....

Why does it matter if they hang and get some sweat?

Mom, the sweat and heat will make them stick to your leg....

Dreading the after doctor call, sure enough it was her, and it wasn't balls after all!

Her bladder had dropped out of thin air, mistaken for testicles, thankfully her husband is still the proud owner of the bigger pair!