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By Nellie Edwards


what is real?
am i real?

who is who?
am i you?

the roof, the walls,
the wind blows down
am i the wind?
am i what falls?

flare, flaming, flume
do i come from the ash?

a colour that rises from grey
all that falls from black
am i the dark?


does the wind move
as i move?
are we the same?
without the chill
most days i feel stagnant
still. watered down without
liquid and yet i am:
without the burn
most days i feel cold
warm only when i expose
what lies beneath my skin
to the world.
to the outside.


the dusts come
brushing me in colour
of the earth

the rains come
bathing me in tears
of the blood.

the winds come
drying me in breath
of the soul

the suns come
warming me in sight
of the smile

the nights come
numbing me in sense
of the self


suddenly they all call
out to me as if i were
the day. as if i were
the night. as if i were
all of it in one.
they ask:
what is real?
they ask:
who is real?

i am

Note: To see the exact stanza patterns in the poem, do look up the PDF file Nellie Edwards.

Nellie Edwards
is a 22-year-old student at Cape Breton University in Sydney, Nova Scotia.


For more stories, read Café Dissensus Everyday, the blog of Café Dissensus Magazine.

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