LGGS June Poems

LGGS

POET LAUREATES

MADNESS HEALING … THE PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE

Poems of the month

Catherine Hill Eniola Afuye

MADNESS

Oh, they say I am mad, when all they know is I have visions - no, illusions, of better days. They say I am a drunk or maybe I am unwell. But whatever the reason, they say I am mad. But no. Time, time, time will tick, the reeds on the hill will continue to sway and my life will remain a mere fever dream, unwanted, an omen of the disease. Am I the disease?

No. No. No. I am not mad, I am not. No, I am not ailed, nor am I a victim of past trauma. No, my wife she still lives; from my parents I was spoiled, and yet I suppose I am mad, perhaps I am intoxicated, drunk on a future in which man is free. Drunk on a future in which I am free, in which I could, would, appreciate the rainforest fauna lush with life and all elegance. I would value the celestial summits at their peaks, watching over humanity below. I would cherish the cascades of the waterfall and its

whimsical willows entangling the crystal cliff in a tight embrace. And it is our own decision to live this life. A life of waking to the sound of grid-locked traffic driven by automated machines posing as people. Wake. Work. Wait. Wake Work Wait. This is the choice of man but one day it will not be mine. And maybe that is why they say I am mad. Because I want more. No, no. I do not want to continue this way, I want to leave the smog behind for the enchanted moors thickened with mist. I want to be left to the serenity that comes from an escape away from what has become an expectation of life. But that is not a life I want to live. And if that makes me mad then so be it. Because what I truly want is freedom. My madness isn’t madness. It’s hope.

Catherine Hill

HEALING

Fleeing into another country, Being separated from the ones who love you the most, The ones who accepted you for who you are, And did not look down on you And brought into a city of the unknown, Healing.

Healing.

Those days filled with worry, Those days filled with crying, Because we were waiting, Waiting and waiting...

Every day after school, Asking, “Mum what did ‘they’ say, Are we going to be deported?”

-

A piece of your heart, A piece still belonging to a place, A place you once called home, A place where you built memories, A place you will never forget.

Healing.

Screaming ringing in your ears when you go to sleep, Blood and tears, every time you close your eyes,

Because you remember those times, Those times filled with fear, Those moments that cut deep, Deeper than a sharp knife, And leave a scar.

SILENCE-

Because we were in the dark, Praying and hoping that we would be lucky.

Healing.

Seen as an alien. Or a foreigner as some people say, Are we threatening?

We are sorry for ‘invading’ your land. If our countries were safe, Without war, rape, murder, slaughtering, corruption, With access to what every human deserves, It might have been a different story?

Still healing.

We are not thieves, or whatever people call us, We are people just like you, Should a place only belong to the people who were born there? How would people learn about different cultures?

Not finished healing.

But. Thank you to all of you who helped, And thanks to those who understood our plight,

Thank you to those who showed compassion. Those who were sympathetic, and thoughtful, And cheered us on to live our lives in the best possible way we could, Those who shared their food, Their clothes, Their homes, Their country, And helped us feel at home away from home, And helped with the settling, And helped with fitting in, And helped with the understanding of the culture, And finally helped in the process of HEALING.

Eniola Afuye

Written for Refugee Week I wrote this poem to encourage everyone to show compassion and sympathy towards people who are going through this process, as well as supporting them in whatever way you possibly can.

The Past, Present and Future

The past, present and future, Without one, the other would cease to exist:

‘an illusion of time.’

The future

The future, The future, Something we look forward to or dread, A place where we get lost in the world of dreaming. An unknown journey set before us, A path we have yet to discover. Until it becomes the present.

The past, present and future, Without one, the other would cease to exist:

‘an illusion of time.’

The present, The present, The present, Fleeting moments we want to hold onto or let go of, But will never last, However, we now have power, Power to shape what lies ahead.

The past, present and future, Without one, the other would cease to exist:

‘an illusion of time.’ The past, The past, The past, Moments both beautiful and painful, Turned to fading memories we want to treasure or forget. Each moment builds upon the last, And though we cannot change the past, The present is our dawn.

So let us live with purpose, Strive to do what's right, For in doing so we shape our future, And explores life's true delight.

Eniola Afuye