Yasmin Odeh
A wave is all else in all ways.
In and out, back and forth,
and noisy,
much like a brain
I possess;
it is fatally bruising.
Rushes of torment
continuing to flood my conscious
cells
and then my body,
so severe—enough to reach the surface
of me.
I browse around in confusion,
seeking restitution.
Where is my recompense? Am I not meriting
of it?
I feel shortcoming, my brain
malfunctioning.
Wretchedness.
A critically damaged piece
of this world,
I am.
The despair worsens.
I am in a quandary.
How can I extricate
myself
from misery?
An intention was distant,
but it is approaching,
like a wave,
a distinguished form:
swifter and towering. It is dominant,
and it appears
to be exceedingly promising.
One departure shall be
glossed over, as many are.
This destination is favored
and has been reached countless times.
After all, what is near?
I feel an immensely powerful
tug
on my physicality,
as if I am being hauled
out
of my own self.
I am floating—levitating
in nothingness.
I entered outside inside,
into darkness, within an abyss.
The solution’s efficacy?
I need not know nor care.
A colossal adjustment
is to fathom and a transition
of authentic substance.
Soreness. An enormous migraine,
I feel, like neuralgia. But how?
My body
in my peripheral,
I presumed this to be…
superior
to life but have been buried
further into my despair.
Tsunamis have become my colleagues
They are so short but colossal;
coming and going,
passing through earth faster
than my archaic fingers can snap.
Like waves,
I float back into the ocean
and remerge with my origin,
my source
of agony.
I was in and out,
pulled back and pushed forward.
Now, it is silent.