For a moment,
Frozen in the window of my soul.
Immersed in a disquieting vision.
Knowing I will never see you again.
The moon quivers in the morning ecstasy
Red roses dance with reflective dewdrops
Heaven’s knowledge and eternity held
In the rapture or a wanderer’s anguish.
The passion shall escape
While the past,
Is bleached invisible.
You gaze at
The unfeigned light
Walking out determined
From your world.
Knowing how it feels
To be broken
And have a black hole
On your timeline.
Living between all boundaries
the light is always within grasp
winding through the face of another.
Entangled in the capsule of darkness
waiting to move forward in love
and paint a new beginning.
Carl Scharwath has appeared globally with 150+ journals selecting his poetry, short stories, interviews, essays, plays or art photography. His photography was featured on the cover of 6 journals. Two poetry books ‘Journey To Become Forgotten’ (Kind of a Hurricane Press) and ‘Abandoned’ (ScarsTv).
If you’d like to be featured on The Short of It, click here for the submissions guidelines.
Discovered on The Drabble, a beautiful poem written from the perspective of an African Muslim Woman about identity and self-discovery. It’s written so honestly and yet so delicately. Hope you enjoy it! 🙂
From the moment of birth…
“It’s a Girl!”
Stay with us,
As we grow….
Smart; socially awkward; Bookworm.
We acquire some of our own…
In this life of Meaning,
Relationships define us….
Mother, Daughter, Wife, Sister, Friend.
Yet, still, are those
Others seek to attach….
Generations-, Cultures-, Decades-thick
Truth, with her identical twin; Not-so-true
Who I should be.
These labels we wear, give, inherit, bequeath
Willingly, Unwittingly, Grudging, Proud
Burying the Human, Unique.
I peel; weary, wary
Affirming this, Rejecting that
Hoping, someday, to find; amidst it all;
“I write to tackle life from an African Muslim Woman’s perspective.” – the writer
this need for silence
where solace is found
oft leads to introspection
a select few
can pass the walls
the emerging strength
when charged and available again
the world a playground
in a world designed to ambush
but when it’s all too much
i’ll retreat again
to the cocoon
of my salvation
Valentina taps into the head of a writer exquisitely with this piece. Enjoy!
My tender years were filled with daily harshness and critical evaluation. No wonder I grew up feeling less than someone. My mother was very demeaning and cruel to me, making my alcoholic, absentee father resemble a saint. My life, like all others, had its own set of hurdles to overcome. I’ll be the first to admit – it was a daunting task.
In November 2012, she died in Asheville, NC at the age of 71. She was hit by a speeding truck as she was jogging home. Yes, she was jogging. The man who hit her only had one brake working on his vehicle; otherwise, I’m guessing he would have been able to stop in time. She was dead on impact but resuscitated. Still, she was brain-dead at the scene and would be until she finally expired four days later. Her heart was strong. Probably because she was a runner, that’s why it took her so long to let go. Maybe if she’d lived as unhealthily as my father, she would have died within fifteen minutes like he did when we took him off the ventilator in 2014. But it doesn’t matter now. They’re both gone, and that’s not a bad thing.
This past September, I went on an excursion held in Asheville, NC. It was the first trip back since my mother had died. It was a much-needed mini-vacation and nature retreat of sorts. I got to spend some quality time with a dear friend for three days as well. I expected some emotions to well up, but not prepared for how deeply it would affect me. Amazing how seven years later, the learned self-loathing from my past reared up its head. I thought I was past it.
During the excursion, I met so many loving and caring people. Quite different from my upbringing. One in particular – France Dormann – who connected with me right at the beginning. She had a rather emotional epiphany as we talked. She said to me, “What’s beautiful doesn’t need to disappear.” It’s not up to me to discuss the details surrounding what made this so tremendously valuable for her, but I will share why it was for me.
Her words echoed so much of what I dealt with in my childhood and even into my adulthood. What was beautiful about me did disappear for a long time. After you get told all of your youth, you aren’t good enough, worthless, crazy, and a problem child. Well, you believe it. But not anymore. Once and for all, I realized my mother was wrong. Totally wrong. This was my take-away from what France said and what made this so beneficial for me.
After years of denigration and lack of connection, I felt as if I could finally reclaim that part of me worthy of praise and love. And oddly, I found it in the same place where the woman who lavished me with all the criticism came to die. After I had a few days to process the events, I felt lighter like an invisible weight had lifted. What is strange is I thought I’d worked through so much already, and had come to a place of peace. Obviously, not.
So much healing took place on this trip. The bonus being I was within arm’s reach of so many wonderful and supportive people. I cannot tell you how many tears I shed and how many meaningful hugs I received, but it was enough to wash away the mother’s sins, who had inflicted a tremendous amount of torment on her daughter. And for that, I’m grateful for the torrent of tears and the love of my friends. My past will no longer own me.
I leave a little bit of me wherever I go.
it’s scary to do
taking a good, hard, long look
surprised at the depth