#natashasomji

[inthemindofthepen]

Fullstop (Natasha Somji)

Eight hours.

132 children. 10 school staff. 3 soldiers.

Total death toll: 145.

These numbers were broadcast to the world in December, the chilling statistics creating a fleeting sense of solidarity between strangers in different corners of the globe.

And yet, this is more than an accounting exercise. The truth is, even 1 is too many, but we only learn to pause when it affects a collective; as if stillness in numbers is a greater tragedy. They all point to a definitive fullstop placed in each life, a reminder of future potentials taken much too soon.

Tomorrow will be three months and the world will be distracted by a cyclone in Vanuatu; the crisis of an impending EU collapse; a successful penis transplant. Maybe the blasts in the Pakistan churches will give a reason to pause and reflect on the school attack, one tragedy reminding us of another, adding up death tolls to dismiss of lives without a second thought.

[inthemindofthepen]

Lighter Than Air (Natasha Somji)

Sometimes In the dead of night Your soul whispers to mine All the secrets of a world That are waiting for us to discover Hand in hand

In those twilight moments When we have our clandestine rendezvous We glide above our physical forms Lying so still below Blissfully unaware Of the murmurs spoken In the stillness of the night

One day Our physical forms will awaken And meet at a bus stop He: Unable to look away from The way her hair frames her face She: Turning away from the unwanted attention But peeking back irresistibly

Meanwhile we will wait patiently For destiny to play out A decade but a blip In the history of the stars That fated two lovers

[inthemindofthepen]

Ablaze (Natasha Somji)

Sometimes She would light a fire Just for the pleasure Of watching the world Burn A catharsis To watch the night Ablaze In orange light A liberation In reducing a city to Embers Her release Her expression of rage That consumed For no reason at all.

[inthemindofthepen]

A Long Way Gone (Natasha Somji)

It has been years since the last episode. Every day, I add one more tally, expanding the distance between your anger and my recovery. In the beginning, my feet dragged through the broken pieces of my soul that you had carelessly left strewn around the room, my body too bruised to stand itself upright. Now, I walk with a steady rhythm, gaining pace everyday. I have stooped down to pick up the pieces and sewn them gently back together. They will never be whole again in the same way, but perhaps the stitching makes them that much stronger.

And you are still by my side, a haunting reminder of the past that we have both tried so hard to leave behind. In the Beginning, you would sit by the window with your back turned toward me, too ashamed to look at me, too angry at yourself for the bruises you had inflicted. While I lay crumpled on the floor, unable to stand or even murmur a sound, imploring you with a gaze that you wouldn’t meet. It was only after my will to survive had gotten me through the Beginning, that you met me in the Middle. You gave me your hand as a crutch, a way to forgive yourself for the pain. And I held onto you, the only one who really understood at all. Sometimes there are no easy answers, no way to simplify our complex intertwined lives.

One day, we will get to the End, and cross the finish line hand in hand.

[inthemindofthepen]

Blur (Natasha Somji)

Sometimes When the screams in her head Drowned out her thoughts When she could no longer distinguish Between reality And fiction When it all blurred She would put on her jogging shoes and tie up her laces And begin to run Unsure of the destination Or where she was coming from Her legs keeping pace With the thoughts that churned

So that on this day That was worse than all The days before it When the world turned upside down She ran faster and harder than Ever before Pushing her further Faster Harder Until A blur And then She is gone

[inthemindofthepen]

Nothing Left to Lose (Natasha Somji)

If only you could read

The language of the stars

If only you could understand

Their glowing murmurs

As they paint the night sky with their geometry

Maybe then you would know

They held a clandestine convention

Spanning across the light years

Simply to bring you forth into this world

If only you understood

How the universe realigned itself

For your arrival

You would also know

That the moon will adjust the tides for you

That the ocean will cradle you

And drift you back

To the surety of land

All to save you from sinking

Into your oblivion

And the galaxy will breathe into you new life

While the wind will whisper to you

The ultimate secret:

That when you are born of yourself

When you have grown into who

The universe conspired for you to be

It is then you will understand

The nothingness you feel

Is but a black hole for you

To experience your journey into this world

A rebirth so you can reach

The highest liberation

[inthemindofthepen]

The View From Up Here (Natasha Somji)

I wonder how it all started. Did You wake up one day with low self-esteem and decide to find a permanent solution by creating these funny little creatures who would construct houses to worship You? Or did You work tirelessly on our design, fashioning each of our thought processes, finding ways to make us believe that we had free will when in fact You pulled all the strings?

You now sit up there with the board laid out, all the pieces in their places, a perfect way to ensure infinite entertainment. You never roll the dice; you can’t rely on probabilities of it being Your way: there must only be certainties. Besides, there is only one player at this game because You chose to destroy all the competition, to make Yourself the centre of the universe.

There are some days when it gets too repetitive to make the same moves over and over again, so You rig the game. You throw in a flood here, a civil war there, dispensing with lives for Your entertainment. For some, You give them a new life one day, and blow their house up the next; it is much too fun to see the turmoil. And so You sit, on top of the world, creating for the fun of destruction.

You should be careful though; no one likes a bully. One day, we will enter our own consciousness and those houses of worship will come crashing down. And we will take control, reducing you to nothingness.

[inthemindofthepen]

Cartography (Natasha Somji)

The mapmaker sat hunched over at his rickety, wooden desk, immersed in the parchment that spread out before him, his concentration undeterred. The candlelight was much too dim to see the full picture but he preferred it this way; it allowed him to hone in on creating the smaller details. His pencil sketched away through the night, painstakingly outlining the artificial borders that defined the past and future.

It always amused him how boundaries could be redefined so easily. Man’s belief in his invincibility could redraw lines that nature had taken centuries to create. One defeat disintegrated a nation so vast into multiple independent states. One battle over egos carved up Africa. Through it all, humanity never doubted their immortality.

So this, his final masterpiece, was not one that was commissioned. It would not be used to wage battle or to assert power. Instead, it would be his parting gift to the world, a reminder of our limits, of our impermanence, of our sense of discovery. And when it was completed, we all would wonder about the hours he had poured into it till the early hours of the morning, barring anyone from entering his workspace. The mapmaker left us with a blank sheet of paper, an empty canvas for us to chart our own route, a chance to recreate history.