Salamin.
Words by Jitro Timbang
Not even gonna lie, I had me going lab experimenting and searching things up like, “the psychological behaviour effects to a colonized collective of people.”
The stew thickens the more ingredients I discover.
I imagined how the landline loudness would’ve wouldn’t have stayed untangled humble with only one cable had the silence hadn’t been meant for growth. Really, more curious on the other patterns of shapes of twists it could’ve made had we twirled differently when they came to say their hello’s the ego continued to take full control.
A wave of terror? Maybe with a mission to intend so, but the approach was warmth, not cold. Almost endearing, easy to nest in, and fall in love until the moon turned on its glow.
Who we are as people, it feels like Enantiomer.
Maybe they want us so quiet because the fight in us is strong? What did he say…’radicals.’ That’s what.
It’s everywhere, but I’m just not subtle. I’ve got a big mouth that’s been hit with generations of trauma. I won’t dump, but think of it like another universe where you had a mojito instead of your go-to espresso.
How tragic is it to exude jovial love for culture when the patience is low. For that, who do we have to give thanks? American influence or another colonizing borough?
Here’s the thing: knowledge of the past supports the voided story we try to get to know.
Our tenacity is only an echo of what could’ve been a work of a supernova. I guess we’ll never know, but this time, we take chances to see at least half of what could’ve been 3 suns and moons ago.
August 14th, 2024 — 1:59pm. Refreshed: August 15th, 2024 — 2:42pm.
