My nutcracker

With beautiful curls of gold

A stubble that moulds you into an old mountain man

Or the lack of which turns you into a boy of innocent days

Where you hid among the bushes for hours

Then tried so hard, to still be found,

By being the perfect A, the non rebel, the good one.

No drugs. No tattoos.

But you still carry demons and scars

That you won’t let heal

That with 2 golden gramaphones

And a magical smile

You ignore and conceal.


So dense

Like the forests you wrote of, in the midst of a monsoon

As clear as the ice cold streams

That flow between surfaces of seemingly frigid-white.

You’ve fooled the world

What a great job you’ve done

You’ve even convinced yourself

That you can live without the sun.

I don’t need glasses

For I see you with what can’t be seen

And you know this can’t go on much longer

You’ll be back home soon, to what you know deep within is real.

-Ramona Arena 2016.



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