This was a poem I wrote a while ago about the anxious feeling of need that is overcome by hope. I was thinking of how humans move on with life, and keep going.
Pulling on this dead thing—
a pound of necessity pressing on the brain.
In aches and pains,
itches and muscle strains;
we live lives unfathomably dull,
unfathomably deep.
Behind closed eyes,
like cracking, peeling doors
guarding against
the outside:
Lingers that ephemeral vapourous thing.
A taste writhing
on the tip of the tongue.
On its back rides all life,
that ballooning elephant
called Hope.
- Daima Hussain
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