Did I just fart? The first question propped up in your mind when others around you are holding noses while you aren’t. Of course, I farted. Yet I choose to defend myself. Still maintaining that same smile I had earlier by using the same back up statement I had used since I knew how to articulate words at a tender age: Farting is healthy, I would say. This magic made me forget and stopped vile comments hurled at me by peers.
I totally agree I have that farting problem and so does my friend (Lindsy) have another greater itch than mine. Actually, I can’t call it an itch – that is an understatement. Finding out that you are HIV positive is something else. The world goes bleak. Friends cease to exist. Ties break. But beyond the calamity, there is somebody watching. Somebody who cares. This should be the refrain you sing in your heart, Lindsy. Somebody cares. The poem below says it all.
Lindsay you must read this! I care.
Echoeing was a distant voice
And a nearer pain,
Ripples ran away from her feet
At the turbulence she caused
Upon the waters,
Swimming pool calm, soul transcending through different worlds,
Oscillating through different thoughts-
Her mind sang the same refrain
She had sang it long
She had gotten used to it.
She was that same
Sitting at the edge of that swimming pool,
The same raging waters
With thirst of exploring the world,
Jump over heights unknown to Earth,
With elevated temperatures, boiling with eagerness,
To land with a thud,
Make known her presence.
As she sat at the edge of the swimming pool,
This time round
She was not that waterfall that raged upon the boulders,
Washing rocks clean
Following the path it set for itself,
Making its way down the stream,
The water pushed upwards
Yearning for what it left above;
She was that waterfall
That felt the pain of falling down.
Water rose to the top,
Wondered she whether she could feel the colours that existed then,
Whether now colours could be felt as she was taught by him,
Whether by smell she could sight the green again,
Whether the red in roses would be traced by touch,
She only thought…
If by one stroke of luck,
She’d notice the shimmering light
From the golden necklace she wore,
Or just notice the yellow of autumn
The green from spring,
The white with which winter identified itself,
Enveloped by darkness
She tranced in this world of thoughts.
She thought of Charles,
Susan, Byron, Terry…
Does Charles still have a liking for beige?
Does Susan still soak herself in blood?
Is yellow yet a favourite of Byron?
Terry, does she still camouflage with the trees?
Were they taken into this dark world?
For she heard them at the school corridors,
Called out to them
But they seemed not to see her,
She only heard their pacing
As if they were looking for something-
A way to move away
Colours had ceased when everything went black.
At that edge,
She felt the waters
Which touched her feet,
Left the tip of her dress sodden,
She wondered if she could hug
It as it were before,
The dark world she was in
She felt at peace at the waters
A piece of it,
She decided to join it
But too short before the stout figure of a woman came by,
And as Moses,
She got drawn out
Then she knew she had not lost all-
Her mother still existed
Watched her like a hawk.