Fragile Beings and Broken Things
Why are we made of such fragile stuff,
trusting when we have no reason to trust
and tearing our hearts piecemeal
and lying sleepless, building dark circles
around our vision, thrust amidst a vortex
that is neither of the weather nor of the sea?
Could we be stone angels erected before august graves,
could we be made of stone, without skin,
without feeling, without these weary tears?
Or do we wish for sky without clouds, clouds
without rain or rain without soggy pools;
for hearts that do not feel, that could tread
aloft on these emotive deserts and not crack?
I am also this one who will never know what it means
to melt over and over, for I am only a fragile one
who will not go through fire and return again–
and I can tell you that some beautiful things
are beautiful only once, and after the once
it becomes a wax of pain, and if you try to melt it,
it hurts, and if you leave it, it becomes a
sweltering pillar in the wastelands of your memory
We’re such fragile beings, beings of paradoxes,
of daunting ironies and ancient puzzles
that we should be made of such stern and soft stuff–
we that break inside and seem whole outside,
we that bruise and hurt and bleed beneath–
and throw white curtains over our deep wounds–
and strive so hard to smile above.
About the Author
Chimezie Chika’s fiction, nonfiction, and poetry has been published in numerous literary journals, magazines, and anthologies both online and in print including Aerodrome, Brittle Paper, Praxis Magazine, Selfies and Signatures, The Kalahari Review, The Question Marker and many others. He freelances on all types of writing projects. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org