And The Words Were Green by Eli Oko

Green Translucent Wall

And the words were green.

They shattered the feelings I had, of accomplishment and pride. I no longer stood, I was crawling for the things I wanted. I had neither the best nor the worse, It was all unspoken of. I was just green and the rest was history. Not the history that goes down in history but rather the history that is forgotten and never mentioned – The taboo of the past, and in fact it is not something prohibited, it’s just not something that reaches the lips of many, well none. There is it and I and we stand facing each other, with a green wall between us – translucent in colour, and wide in width. It is a wall with depth and a dimension that resembles infinity, not the type that we vow to love each other in but rather the type that belongs when it no longer belongs. Its not written but inscribed and if possible engraved not on foreheads, that would be weird, but rather on the hearts of those who vowed the infinity but forgot. The ones who swore of immortality and passed like the seasonal leaves. Its them, its I who speaks but is never heard. But who can hear the silence I am speaking? Everyone, for they ask if I am okay and if I am coping and how I am doing as if not one – then all will be answered differently. Only I who hear the words I speak and block out the words unspoken can realise that, that alone makes no sense. But rather sense is spelt with 5 letters as we have 5 senses. I no longer touch and smell, see and hear, nor taste the same as I did when the words were green. But I never claimed to be the same, just physically – if that. Emotionally I have adapted and mentally I have survived but I am stressing the fact that it’s all but one, not of the questions you asked but of the senses. For I can’t have only 5. They speak of the 6th sense, I write in it and dream whilst I sleep about it. It’s something I do with my eyes closed and heart open – not the surgery type, that would be detrimental. I’m not the literal type, more of the sentimental. You know what that means don’t you? They ask as I have my mouth closed and eyes shut from their noises. Although I hear it all I am not listening, the way they don’t hear me, but yet they keep speaking to me, and they keep asking me, and they keep on keeping on with me. I don’t think they really know me, they just observe me with their 5 senses. I’m not lost in what they are saying I am just preoccupied with what they do not say, a little like me I guess, Hence why they call us “We”. Were just speaking with no thoughts, or there are thoughts but they are behind our walls and for only us . The filter is strong and nothing passes through it and so as we receive what was sent unfortunately they become, and became. They were growing and grew. And they, from were I stood on the other side, their noises were mute.

and the words were green.

Spoken Poem by Elizabeth Oko.

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Use the #SpokenPoetry and tag me in the post for an INSTANT RT and FOLLOW!
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