"When the Mind Clouds Over , there are pieces of Remembering"

Last week, I found myself frozen, my mind stalled, my words lost. In that quiet panic, I turned inward, pressing for clarity that wouldn’t come. I didn’t lean on my body or my breath. I leaned harder on my mind until it cracked.

What surfaced wasn’t just overwhelm, but a deeper truth: I still struggled to trust my emotions fully. The parts of me that feel raw, unfiltered, uncontainable.

So I turned to the sky.
I lay down, watched the clouds shift and reshape, and let their symbolism speak where logic couldn’t. From that space, this poem emerged, not as an answer, but as a remembering.

Let it meet you where words may not. Let it remind you that your inner weather is worthy of witnessing.

"When the Mind Clouds Over , there are pieces of Remembering"

A mind’s rebellion is written in vapour.
Galaxies stretched out like spaceships catching krill,
delivering thoughts to places where even stars lose their way.

If only my mind could feed me from this fluidity of oceans,
My eyes cupped like hands,
tenderly awaiting small salvations.

The birds have left, it seems,
the skies echo their absence,
no feather, no song, just the hush of a once-held knowing.

Above me, atmospheric sand dunes in this Blues mixtape,
winds shifting tracks,
old melodies forgotten, new beats being played.

This is what it means
to carry the history of remembering inside you,
like ribbons of fire and ice
weaving time through you.

Memories and thoughts reaching out:
some to save,
some to be saved.

Like numbers, they fade in and out,
snooker balls in cosmic motion,
predictable, yet impossible to catch mid-spin.

This is the dance of the dragon,
to stir the sleeping gods inside.

To crack open the rocks in my belly
of a justice that feels upside down.

To face old identities melting like wax,
each drip,
a version I no longer recognise.

To open my mind unto a scale rusted shut,
where my gaze has been sewn open
to the wrong side of truth.