Gold, Mortality and Everything in Between || Poetry ✓

UNDOCUMENTED

Life survives in the smallest of corners,
In the busiest of streets,
In the harshest pushes of a crowd,
Amidst the honking of a million grey machines.
And when I say life, I do not mean existence.
I mean raw pulsating breaths
Gulping down more than just oxygen;
Breaths laboured with struggle,
Reeking of hope.
To hear these murmurs of breaths,
To see these hide and seek of lives,
You have to play dead.
(Life always was afraid of life.)
Stand still,
Put your hand over your chest,
Tell your heart to beat a little slower,
Tell the whirring of your brain to grow a little quieter.
Time will freeze.
You will see it then –
The undocumented smiles,
The untouched tears,
Voices singing a song that will never reach the radio,
Fingers intertwined with a strength that history will never remember.
The world will be lit in a fire so bright it will never see it
And you, though you've seen it
You'll soon forget.
When your heart returns to its original pace,
Racing as fast as your legs
To catch the oxygen slipping from your fingers,
When your mind goes back to the loud tick tock tick tock
That you've become so accustomed to hearing,
You will forget how once, you had stood still;
And in those brief moments,
You had seen the cracks in the steel armours of the hundred thousand droids that passed you by.
And you had smiled,
And gulped in the biggest breath of your life,
Knowing that you're drinking in more than just oxygen.