Second hand

Unable to perceive their endurance
The fumes and smoke gave up on their life
In front of
Lava that erupted after a thousand years
They all subsided, all shrunk
It was a sad encounter, brief
And then it was gone
Taken by the wind
They were replaced
By new
Not yet broken
Not yet true
Ducklings directionless in the middle of a map
They had nowhere to go, they could go anywhere
Why didn’t they?
“Move! There’s a train headed your way!
Can’t you hear the bell rings?
What are you doing?”

And just like that every good memory feels like a train passing
From the same height, the same railway.
And you’re paving your own boulevard
Maybe alone on a bike, maybe an addictive carousel
It’s carrying your burdens, lying to you.

This chimney, this roof, like a folding of the arms
When warmth is doing you no favor
And the kettle singing up to its nose, loves drowning.
They are like the weather that we’re glued to
Inside our heads
When we think of a comfort zone that murders the passions of the soul.

Why can’t sweets be stronger?
There are things inside me that poison can’t reveal
Its a tiny seedling that I once planted when I didn’t know any better
Look where it took me, its roots now devour my heart

It deserves it, it was never meant to be free
That’s why our ribs are cages!

The warmest feeling, of sun on a cold day
Remains all year
Even if temperature dropped,
Lower than your knees
Would you then kneel,
to the prison that you made?
It’s getting smaller with each day
Your bones are decaying, every joint, arthritis is in no way, what it is to the old
I haven’t even felt anything
I haven’t even painted my walls green yet

Every stone reunites with its kind
All these years it had been too kind
With all the hands that called it ‘mine’
Seldom knew what it meant to detach from time

In the eyes that moisture seas
Or the hair that camouflages furr
I felt like a whale in a little pond
Or a Philipine eagle in between an extinct zoo

I hope this thought is true, I hope my future is with you
Or has this been programmed to me,
Was it the transplant?
Or was it skin that soothes teeth?
I don’t know what it is to feel owned, I’m second hand
Lower than the resale value
The only reason I’m bought
Is because I’m still working without input.

Might as well…


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Hi. Now that you're here...let's just get this out of the way. I hadn't introduced myself in the past because when I first started this blog, I wanted it to be purely about my writing. This is not, and was never supposed to be, an anonymous blog. However, after almost a year of inactivity, I realize an 'about' section is...necessary? My name's Sadia. I live in Islamabad, Pakistan. Between uni/work/life in general, I try to take time to write. I own all content on this blog. Although, I do NOT own the images posted here, nor do I take credit for them whatsoever. I wanted to thank my visitors, for still being loyal and genuine after this long. In case you want to know more about me for whatever inexplicable reason, ask ahead and I'll get back to you! This right here, keeps me sane. You will find here, sincere thoughts mixed up with a subconscious trying to fuck it all up. I hope you understand. Love, Sadia.

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