by Halla Yagoub
Sing; If you can remember the words. If the melody doesn’t escape your memories and hurt your bones. If the drums you carry inside you still beat against your chest, if the songs you sing are alive made of flesh.
Sing, if you feel the rhythm that mistook itself for a rhyme. Sing down the valleys of your vocal cords and up the peaks of your spine.
Move; outside the lines, outside the words that define, what leather is made to bind, outside the senses falling short like sight is to the blind. Move, So you do not drown in the noise that makes no sense, so that you don’t rust in the shadows of false pretense. Move, Beyond the bruises of suspense left by time on your skin.
Swim, across the oceans against the currents into the rivers that gave you life. Lay down on the in-betweens of sand and sea, Sway with the soft embrace of the wind, feel the light flicker of air across your humble skin.
Dance against all the odds, all the demons that call out, all the spaces where you don’t fit, move till you know the ground where you tread and spin like the very back of your eyelids.
Move, wear out the curves of your muscles, let your bones ignite into fires, electrify every nerve ending on the surface of your skin, slowly you will begin to light up.
Burn; Combust into brilliant ashes, float across waves of 3 AM prayers sent to the moon. Burn all you want, spiral downward as your edges catch on fire. Know that you’re most holy then, when you are made out of ashes, flashes of brightness, fading fires and smoke filling your lungs. Contain the universe within your small warmth, know that after fire comes life and within your warmth growth will start to name itself, so burn.
Grow; Stubbornly into laughter and words. grow into music notes and light bulbs. Grow into seaside mornings and summer nights. Grow into spring flowers, grow into lonely hours. Grow into old towns and lighthouses. Grow into paintings and poems, grow into sadness & joy. Whatever you do, never stop growing. End; You’ll stand suspended between cities of your past and the roads leading to your future. Glass windows displaying your past mistakes, skyscrapers edge against your skies wanting to poke holes into your atmosphere so your stars can fall out into constellations marked with doubt. The houses are full of closest that harbor skeletons waiting to parade your empty streets.
The streetlights flicker inviting darkness for split seconds.
That’s why you sing, that is why you move, that is why you burn, why you grow, how you make your way through the roads leading ahead into your inevitable dismay.