From the sneak peak to the Novel, Red, by EJ Koh.
Koh-Catharsis Diaries 1
A brief study in the
Implications of literary angels:
Pause and follow the direction
Of the innocence and passion
Of the birth of language
Of the pangs of poetics
It’s our sanctuary of hope
It may be disobedient to become a writer
But if it’s our calling, is it not
Our moral obligation to oblige
The inner universe in us bursting forth?
It’s where the hero’s journey
Became the writer’s journey
Alchemy of lonely years
Lonely years that were not truly lonely
Like an orphan from another country
We left behind traditions to pursue
With pause, deliberation, a lifetime of editing
Translating, giving speeches, marketing
With only the barest silver light
Of recognition from the sun outside
Like the attempt to piece together
All the things that occurred in our psyche
Without success, we were doomed
Trapped in the fiction of our own myth
Like a journal of Sera and Azel
Unending, serpent biting its own tail
Experience the Guru, Sera
Youth the dreamer, Azel
The Koh effect implied objectivity
A truth that was not Justice when there was none
A magical realism of our bone-split
Rain covered tears, the vision that
Encapsulated our prison room
Untold labor of conscious hallucination
The way eyes flit away in internal direction
When the shaman wakes the brain
These I have seen, these have I witnessed
A trinity of Spirit, Earth and Wake
And the lost sense of no-time in the dream
The dream that was our life
The surrealism of the spirit that
Liked to study our human past
Dissect it for significant moments
Summarize the way memory plotted inaccurately
Like tear-stains on letters from mother
It was a lottery of bright moments, pale
In the forgiveness that altered them
The primitive familiarity of the search
For belonging, in an anonymous modern world
Full of condemnation, virile self-criticism
Waging wars of inner doubt
Mover, spirits, humans, animals, planets
The blatent hierarchy fostered responsibility
Consciousness required us to rebel
Gendered pods took on ethnic-matter
Race became part of snickering identity
Identity became a frame of reference
One glowing figure in our own night
Author.
– EJ Koh
Wuji Seshat 
powerfully moving poetry!
Why thank you Elle, must be because it’s about a woman.
what is there better to write about? 😉
Nothing I know of