April 25, 2020
I held Hope, a tiny mustard seed,
But it fell through my fingers onto the ground
And sprouted…
What good are pretty dresses still wrapped in tissue
Or pretty words left unspoken?
We started the war
And now
We don’t know
How
To make peace.
So we say nothing to each other,
Put on our dirty work clothes
And complain to ourselves
Instead
Of
Doing the thing
We know
Is right while
Waiting for the other person
In the room to show up
Wearing the pretty dress.
Maybe sometimes
The best thing to do
Is
Nothing.
Maybe, the only thing we can do is nothing– except
Let time pass and heal what wounds still remain.
Is there someone
Who has the answer?
Anyone?
All was silence
In the dark and
The mustard seed grew
And grew…
But it still wasn’t enough for the voracious appetite
Of the swarm
When they came unnoticed
And left us wondering
Now what?
How many times can we build it
Before they knock it down
Again.
And where did all my pretty words go…
I look to you for hope–
At least a smile—
However,
You are also looking
To me.
–NZain
This piece is about depression. Something I’ve struggled with for as long as I can remember. But, it’s also about hope…and letting go.
Growing Up... 