What I Conceive of the Voice Unheard by All

by Lauren Ho
Art by Amanda Zhu
Issue: Paracosm (Winter 2017)

An abyss of bright light above my fingertips,
outlining flailing arms,
and matching the current state of my transitive mind.

A voice, soothing out the sharpest vocals of the screams,
as if there were to be sun shining in a squally sky,
my head thrashing to the side being locked in this pretty cage,
a cage secure enough where all youngins’ were protected against the indifference.

A pair of hazelnut orbs reflecting my own glassy eyes seem to twinkle back down,
the night sky could be seen in your eyes,
with a sliver of a half-moon curved upwards with soft lips.

Gentle hands caressing mine,
lifting me up to the heavens above,
to swaddling me against your heart,
all the while crying with me,
feeling my unexplainable cries.

Perhaps the totality of this moment is evident,
like how the stars align,
how the oceans rise with the tide,
the feeling of connection is inevitable between two bonding forces.

By the time my tears calm to nothing but a whisper,
coming down in earnest,
having diminished with mine,
as the tears have already been said as a prayer.

Submerged in water sweetened with tears,
just as water is holy,
suds of soap covering my eyes,
blinding pain of a stinging reaction,
I see in the water’s reflection the dampness in my own eyes,
bathing me with such tenderness while parting my closed lashes,
and with my sight I no longer feel the pain.

Down a staircase,
as many steep steps as it is going up,
the breathless resonate to the inevitable,
to know how many times you’ve made the journey,
not ever dithering in your purpose of retrieval.

Entering a dimly lit room,
much softer than the first awakening,
a crescent smile rising,
and burning star struck eyes reflecting absolute devotion.

I remember this today,
Even though the life we live may bring the chaos of a storm,
To reflect back on the memories of my youth,
Smoothing out over time,
Like water over flat stones,
With every reminiscence a fairy tale,
the relics of my bygone of it all is inexorable.

An open birdcage is suspended above water and in front of a black backdrop with white specks. Water appears to flow from the bottom of the cage while rays of light shoot out from the center. The hook of the cage is shaped like a question mark. Within the cage are two hands with eyes on their palms; the eyes seem to be crying.