We grow extinct each day,
Marching towards a slower decay.
With a falsehood of reality and a sense of hope,
Hope is a poison; it prevents us from letting go of things we should have let go
Before it made us question everything in sight.
Fear and void;
The sanity slipping away from the palm of our hands
And then? We run.
Memories of what once was,
Its fragments cut like glass
A thorn, a papercut, its sharp edges touching our skin.
We worry of not having enough, of losing what we have,
Tricking ourselves by outrunning the massacre.
We take a step back
Stuck in a pattern we can never outrun
Falling off to the same ground we rose from—
We grow extinct
Only to be born again.
To face the same consequences again
And name it reality.
Wake up, wash up, face it
Tear yourself apart—duck, roll and shrink.
Run, disappear and avoid.
Seek if you must
If you believe the truth shall set you free
And then? We heal.
Maliha Tribhu is currently studying in the department of Marketing at University of Dhaka.