As I write with the pretext of redemption,
in reality I’m just wanting attention.
Confirmation, validation, hear me y’all!
I still write my most precious thoughts in a diary,
like a song that’s never published. True strength.
Then, why is my mind being pulled to be in the open,
on social media, on this blog, for all to see?
What kind of sorcery is this?
It’s an unwanted restlessness that does not belong to me.
We pour our spirits out, emptying our vessels,
knowing that each letter we write is self-treachery.
Concealing treasures has become a hero’s deed,
in a feeble society of illusory safety.
If I were strong, I wouldn’t be writing this blog.
I wouldn’t even have a website, or be on social media.
Instead, I would sit at the fire lit by a few logs, there, looking at the flames,
sharing a story or two with my grandfather and a passing-by neighbour,
and hours would fly by absorbing the wisdom of the fire,
the quiet evening air and the not-so-far away chants of crickets.
In the times we are living, who is brave enough to break the spell?
I know it awaits me.
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