The formalities that we use when we speak to each other, often leave us conversing like strangers. In the last few years, I’ve succumbed to bouts of loneliness. I’ve learnt that this form of loneliness doesn’t arise from my relationships with others, but the estrangement from my core self. Is this something that everyone feels at points in their life? What can we know from this space? Does anything grow there?
When I wrote these poems, I had to leave every known structure that I usually take part in; meals, conversations, routines. Even though I was ‘alone’ I felt a significant pulse of energy and connection in the place where I often feel a cool frontier of loneliness form.
Maybe loneliness is a reminder that this constructed material realm isn’t all there is. Maybe we can see it as a gift.
To feel seen
To feel seen
I had to spend
A good deal of time
Hiding away
In my room alone.
At first I was afraid,
that my absence would leave a mark
Of social indecency
Like a feeling that hurt,
And would somehow scar.
But then I learnt –
I needed to meet every part
That lived inside,
To know
The others in my life.
And it was in solitude
I met –
The part that stayed silent
When I talked,
The part that kept living
When the rest died.
The part that stayed in stillness
as I walked –
The parts that were frozen cold,
from being cast outside.
And once I saw them
And listened to what each one wanted to say –
I started to learn,
Which flavours they enjoyed
And when,
What brightened them.
I heard
What yearned for
My choices
And what was tired from being
Numb and voiceless.
And some come only
when the rest of the world sleeps,
Where I slip into a place
Where I can feel each part
And know each piece
And I hold them in a place,
That no one else can heal,
Until they’re home again,
And each one becomes real
Away
From the place I’d locked them
Up inside,
So they know one day,
That we’ll be alright.