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Poem by Nouran Samy

Mint green.

I was standing in the center of the gale; as the typhoon was hitting every inch of my crippled encephalon. I recalled to mind what it means to stand and face the wind. I wasn’t petrified, I was curious. I was curious of what happens inside of the gale. What happens to the person inside of the gale? Does his melancholia get swept away with the air atoms as they hit each other?

Mint green.

I was standing still. Waiting for rain to wash away my blues, and me, from the melancholic poems I spent writing the very first hours of the morning. Standing still, I recalled to mind what it meant to wait for the rain while I stand in the center of the gale. I started moving. I started moving because I believed I should discover other dimensions the whirlwind carries. I shouldn’t be standing and waiting hopelessly for the deluge to water the garden inside my not-so-ecstatic animus.

Mint green.

Even summer looks a lot like winter in its lonely nights:
Cold
Boring
Desperate
And poetic.

Cold. My hands are trembling. They are holding a notebook in the center of the gale waiting to write about what I have seen there, what I have experienced there.

Boring. Its summer and it’s boring. It’s not all beaches, floral dresses, and iced white mochas in the early mornings. Its long sleepless nights. Wearing your mint green façade, scared to show people how blue your real façade is.

Desperate. Summer is desperate for other seasons to come. Believing that our blues will fall with the leaves in autumnal equinox. Believing that rain will wash away agony in winter tide. Believing that souls will flourish with blossoms in blackberry winter.

Poetic. Our poetic sides. Our woebegone poetic sides cease not to exist with the seas’ shades of blue.

Mint green.

No. My soul isn’t blue. Its fifty shades of green, not just mint green. Blossoms are thriving inside my hamstrung, gray matter. Blossoms are thriving inside my poetic soul. Blossoms are thriving through the Cimmerian shades of my life. Blossoms are thriving. And I’m thriving, too. Watering my mind and soul with self-love and appreciation; striving for greater good, inside of the gale.