I look around and all that surrounds
me is the mundane, the everyday.
The stuff, the houses, the cars, the parties, and more
stuff.
Five weeks until abandonment. Five more weeks of stuff.
And the voice in my head says, “remain”.
Remain in the mundane?
No, remain in the comfort. Remain in the known.
Remain still. Remain quiet. Remain indifferent.
Remain safe.
So, should I retreat? Run to the American life of ease?
Because if I go,
Uncertainty is all that I’ll know.
But I silence the voice. I refuse to
remain.
Because that orphan is still crying
that woman is still selling her
body, while slowly dying.
The lonely are still lonely.
The lost, still lost.
The sick, still sick.
The poor, still poor.
And the unloved remain unloved.
So, I’ll go.
