Our hearts are wild things,
That’s why our ribs are cages.
Tracheal rings
Of cartilage through which breath
Spills on all these pages
Push out words falling as ink,
Like petals give off their fragrance.
These words were meant for clouds,
Precipitating in stages,
Carried on through the ages.
But just in the blink
Of an eyelid that stings
From harsh notes heard,
Words can be spared if not misheard
When blurted out in a fit of anger.
You know how powerful rage is
But just like a sage is
Calm, the heart will long for its balm
Which soothes even the most rocky of waves.
The most in danger it saves.
And when your eye opens again
It will lift all that was weighing it down,
Releasing that permanent frown
And with it the pain.
Leaving not even a stain
Of the forgotten moment from which you had nothing to gain.
But that ache.
That ache.
Nothing is worth feeling your insides break,
Clawed at with a rake,
Made of your own making.
The heart should stop for its own sake
Turn the dangerous sea into a tranquil lake
And when you wake the cage will be intact
Still there in fact
Thinking that what you lacked was not patience, no you have too much
You were simply out of touch with reality.
But you don’t have the capacity
Your cage won’t be enough
To keep you from being the tough one you think you need to be.
You say all their hearts are depending on me.
Theirs is a paper plane proven to always reach the ground
Or stoop even lower
You don’t hear their hissing like the tunes of a Boa
Constricting my neck so the air comes out slower
Till I just
Can’t
Breathe.
Now you no longer seethe
And the ache is gone, you wonder how.
You still have your cage
But what good is your heart to you now.
Misbah Shafique is a third year medical student currently intercalating in Nutrition at King’s College, London
Featured Image by Lenore Senior
I RISE 