Little corners in buses
Hedged in like a plant,
There are places I’ve marked with crosses
Free from the taste of beer and the smell of blunts.
Little rock nestles on hills
Caved in from the rain
There are places I’ve kept from chills
Free from the breath of emotions feigned.
Quiet paths with trees,
Thinking with the breeze
There are places your mind breaks free
Away from thoughts that nag like bees.
Void of the lull of spells and chimes,
Of silken voices, flowing gin and rum
I never quite learned the way of the land
Wherever my feet land becomes sinking sand.
Invisible, waveless, weightless
Unfathomable by shifting tectonic plates
But I know you and I will call me faithless
There’s no sure rock here, only underground fates.
There are no little corners
No little rock nestles
No quiet paths, no room to be invisible
When the land you’re escaping is yourself.
© Joel Benjamin Ntwatwa | 2016
Sometimes you try to get away from it all when really you can’t get away from yourself. And that is the problem.