Intimate with fear

Intimate with Fear

“The world is not a safe place to live in. We shiver in separate cells in enclosed cities, shoulders hunched, barely keeping the panic below the surface of the skin, daily drinking shock along with our morning coffee, fearing the torches being set to our buildings, the attacks in the streets. Shutting down.”

Gloria Anzaldua – Borderlands.

If perchance I had been born in a manger with a slight hint of divinity in my blood, maybe – just maybe – my heart wouldn’t look with sorrow on these the days of woe. Truly, though I may at times entangle myself in folly, the awareness of the unchanging circumstances never wanes: things were never better, nor were they worse. It is the lament of a soul encased in flesh and bone with a certified amount of ticks within which to understand the whole, parading itself as joy in a nostalgic thought.

He came, He saw, He conquered. I am, I see, I weep. From whence cometh my help?

With my hands I wielded the sword, and death produced the foreign skin to cover my own. The peace of a naked mind, lost to lust and quickly forgotten, left the void within which this intimate fear reigns.

And skin turned to brick, sweat turned to motar, an inch into a thousand miles. Sister turned to foe, brother to a difference, a touch to a thousand fiery arrows. Light brought forth a darkness, love brought forth a pain, and men were drenched in the stupor of madness, which is now stretched across the generations. These were the beginnings of the turbulent days. None is alive who remembers, all struggle for time forgets.

He came, He saw, He conquered. I am, I see, I weep. From whence cometh my help?

Surely there exists another way!

© Denis Adide 2011

Let him who has ears listen and he that understands teach,

because for a lack of knowledge my people perish.


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