No one else knows

the shade of shadow

seen behind your eyes

when the colour spools

and mingles with your memories

​

No one else knows

why the joke tickles some soft part of you

which having been discovered

wants to dance beneath the light

​

No one else knows

the little bitter words which slid into your heart

like the love that they denied,

the times your heart was like a child

with opened hands

slapped down by blind and wicked figures

which had forgotten they were once a child themselves

​

No one else knows the silent victories

you reap each day,

the frontiers of the self you overcome,

the private civil wars you conduct and arbitrate,

aggressor, vassal, peacemaker, victim,

none of the above,

The tiny acts of rebellion against a soul corrupted by a world of surface occupations

which denies its own existence

​

No one else knows the patiently seen sunset,

which lingers long

reminding you of timeless time before social abstractions,

where each moment spent in quiet contemplation 

is a tiny step towards the reclamation of a harmony we have learnt to think never existed

​

No one else knows the quivering animal

which eyes you from the corner of its cage,

taught by the world to mistrust others and itself,

which only the most patient acts of love can call back home to you

​

No one knows but you,

and the only work you have to do is know

Making space in your heart for every part of you you handed to another

asking them for love

when it was your own love you sought.

​

Look upon this fractured thing which is yourself with familiar eyes.

This is the first stirrings of love,

which is the light by which we really see,

through which we are already seeing,

through which we learn to remember through the depths it lights inside