I am on a holiday,
1,2,3 max to max a week,
But something is a miss.
I can't take this silence anymore.

I jump, I shout,
But no one really notices,
And even if they see,
They don't understand.

It's the stillness I can't bear.
Afraid to question my existence,
the work that I was born to do.
Sometimes the insecurities get too loud.

Friends, family, colleagues.
No one to really talk.
Superfluous chat of whereabouts,
No one has the solution to freedom.

I surround myself with noise,
too desperate to go to work.
It's the distraction that keeps me alive
for facing the emptiness of my life.

1 comment:

  1. Isn't this one of the reasons that we write, Fizaah? To escape the silence of meaningless noise.
    You have expressed the dilemma wonderfully.




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