[Poem #1]
I walk into the exam hall and my mind is dizzy. All the numbers running around in my brain and my neurons firing impulses filled with mathematical formulas that are supposed to determine the rest of my life. Numbers, numbers, formulas, numbers. .
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I try to remember everything I learnt the night ago. Fibonacci's sequence and Euler and Plato and Euclid's work are supposed to be my prayers, the marksheet is supposed to be a horoscope for my future, my happiness determined on a number line and my heartstrings are supposed to beat like clockwork, working at the frequency of N hertz. .
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36-24-36, I'm supposed to be an hourglass, an object that shows time, an object. Da Vinci gave a golden ratio for my face and my 'perfect' is determined by the shape of my eyebrows. A madman once dared to say that the earth revolved around the sun and the Pope banished him, Galileo did not know the worth of truth. .
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They try to find maths in Beethoven's notes but never bother to find his emotions in the beats. Maybe just maybe, Beethoven wanted to compose something that pleased him and not try to make maths because of his genius. I sit in the exam room and I think, 'numbers, numbers so many numbers'. .
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One day I sit down with my parents and finally tell them how my brain cannot comprehend maths and science and geography, my heart doesn't follow the laws of physics, how my body refuses to be a hourglass and how my face does not follow the golden ratio, how my happiness is not found by the Pythagorus theorum, relativity does not explain why my heart beats faster and I lose sense of the world when I see a certain someone. .
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And I am told to get a perfect grade and try to be an hourglass, an object. I try to make sense of differentiation and integration while my heart yearns to follow the north star and walk the edge of tomorrow. I try to be an hourglass but the cells in my body refuse my every command. Deep in my heart I know I'll never be an hourglass and maths and physics and chemistry and geography will never settle in the cognitive structures of my brain and I know my marksheet won't be what my parents want. I know, numbers, numbers so many numbers. .
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Till then, I sit in the exam hall.
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[Poet's note: thank you so much for reading this. Your love and support makes all the difference.]
ESTÀS LLEGINT
Empty Vases
Poesia'To see the world in a grain of sand, and to see heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hands, and eternity in an hour.' -William Blake Empty Vases is a collection of short stories and poems, exploring the heart's greatest desir...
