Politics & Lifestyle

A Silent Cry

by Nthabiseng Ntshala

It is home

Well that’s what we should call it.

How can I call it home if it’s as empty as our memories?

We see nothing but empty souls reflecting

I stare at the mirror

I see a figure filled with nothing but air

Air meaningless to breath

That tells not my story but the story of others

 

I am screaming for deaf ears to hear me

I cry with the rain falling

I see a blurry image

Who am I to be described?

 

There is always a shadow of doubt

I cried

I got sick from it

I became numb

I was a lifeless body with dreams

I gave up on myself so quickly

I lived for others

i gave them me and i became their slave

 

How can I be revived?

I stare at the mirror hoping to get answers

All I hear is silence.

 

There are some more articles Different Flavours One Spoon as well as Dying moments if you want more on love and self acceptance.

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