Knots

The sailor of the soul

There is what you need,

what twists your stomach in knots,

like a master sailor
navigating the ocean of soul.

The knots twist,
contort,
pull,
scrape,

and you go about your day,

smiling plastic smiles,

nodding,

yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

"Conform,"
commands the coward within.

"Cut the rope,"
screams the rebel.

"Use the machete.
Burn the ship down."

Like God and the devil
on a seesaw,

up, down,
up, down,

never in balance.

The ship rocks,

left, right,
left, right.

The waves just keep coming,

one roller after the next.

"Conform,"
yells the coward.

"Cut the rope.
Burn down the ship,"
screams the rebel.

A poem by Pemba Umoja