Guest Poet
he asked not to be photographed
perhaps he was the subject of controversy
or was simply wielding the powers of assent and dissent
the power of an image, his image
funny enough he was given a seat in the centre of proceedings
so that in the end he was in every shot
either dominating as he did in conversation
or sneaking into the background of every other shot
his presence marking the occasion both physically
and metaphorically
he began with a statement
an explanation of why he doesn’t explain himself
“I let the words speak for themselves
but also this is a poem about the people
for the people who are voiceless and I’m their voice”
the words came forth with passion but control
he had done this before
and his pauses and inflections and even shouts
lay testament to this
practice practice practice
I was emotional but I knew his poetry wasn’t the reason why
I start to think about my own poetry
my use of the standard pronoun
of the attempt to replace it with “we”
so that I too could represent something bigger
something beyond my constant existential angst
or the drama of daily life
in which my privilege doesn’t quite mask me from hardship
like I want it to
yet it casts enough of a shadow
when a child rubs their stomach and my problems become inconsequential
but somehow more apparent
but what would this mean to me?
I have learned that art is not tainted
when it is crafted with intention
a river flows from and towards a certain direction
still there’s a certain part of me that holds back
the part that allows me my immediate environment
to spill forth when I need it to
but we do know that the subconscious can only do so much
beauty does not have to be unhinged
but there’s a certain elegance to living on the edge
allowing chaos to flirt with structure
conducting madness
and besides, my immediate environment is just a microcosm
of a large unforgiving world
but will I show it?
only time will tell
