make it to the newsrooms,
but nobody notices
the changing of weather inside.
the churning of
mind’s meterological phantoms
that play havoc in some mind-scapes.
the river inside of us
swelling, surging over the banks of
‘I will fight this melancholy today’.
These are torrential rains
we can not take cover from.
We are holding onto
life in any form that we can.
Please know, inside of us there are rivers too,
transboundary between madness and insanity –
that we swim in.
And on some days we drown
in our own body of river waters.