silent scream

edvard munch - the scream

i’ve not been blogging the last few days as i’ve been feeling particularly inarticulate and speechless. every time i turn on my radio (which is where i’ve been getting most of my local news), i seem to slide deeper and deeper into indigo, a shade way beyond the blues.
we, as south africans, are faced with overwhelming questions to which nobody has the answers and i’m left feeling frustrated and powerless. south africa used to be THE  symbol of infinite possibilities, of the seemingly impossible made possible, of the power of forgiveness, of unity, of transcendence. i understand the frustration of the disadvantaged at promises not kept, services not provided, but my mind boggles at the differences in perception that exist, at the willingness to mutilate and murder and steal, at the inability to see another human being as exactly that; someone’s mother, father, brother, sister, child. as a mirror of ourselves.
i hear horror stories from every source as mounting fear and paranoia build. more and more people carry pepper spray. my (peace-loving) boyfriend wants to buy a gun. i really don’t know what to do. i know if we all do a little, it can add up to a lot, so i go through my closets. i see what warm clothing i can spare for the people who now have even less than the little they  started out with, but it feels so trifling. i know: there, but for the grace, go i.
i wish i had answers, but when i open my mouth, all that comes out is a silent scream.
if you have any ideas as to what we need to do, please feel free to comment and let me know.
lately i feel… (a poem i wrote during another inarticulate spell)
lately i feel incredibly dumb
like my tongue’s been nailed to a board
like my brain’s been robbed
of some of the best knowledge
once stored there
words which use to roll
around my mouth at will
now will not come
lie lost as worlds beneath stilled waters
and will not come
even when sought
no matter how i prodding poke
my prying oar
still the glassy surface steely holds
and will not reveal nor
yield
it’s hoard
image: the scream, but edvard munch
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