attention

Of the loneliest moments I have felt,
the assumption that I don’t feel,
because I am thick skinned,
remain indifferent to insult,
or control my temperament,
have been the most hurtful.
Sensitivities are heightened and numbed,
in one fell swoop,
the more you’re exposed.
It’s not I don’t feel,
it’s that I,
we,
choose to control ourselves,
in a world where only volatility and tantrums,
grip our attention,
where only worship of the self,
warrants empathy.
An introverted fighter is the perfect sacrifice,
at the altar of social ignorance.
Silence,
that ensues from a man’s fists,
is louder than words,
belted from a man’s lips.
This irony of shying silent,
the proclivity to fade in a room,
brings a glimmer,
a dust trailing light,
that points right at me,
it leaves me the largest figure in the room,
the elephant so to speak,
large, grotesque,
but ever meek.
And it never ceases,
age only hyper sensitises us,
hides our secret deeper from the world,
and confuses and explains,
and amuses and derails,
and bruises and blames,
excuses all the same,
we hyperventilate right into breathlessness,
leave,
banish,
and cocoon into,
helplessness.
Wesam El dahabi
