No, not yet.
I shall not reel under the pressure. The winds are cold, they bite into the very entrails……yet I hold on. The mast on my tiny ship seems to bend and stoop…..and I’m angry at it. There are others I have to feed, many who depend on the hope I nourish within. I have to stand tall and I have to stand erect. I have a ship to steer, a mast to hold on to in the storm, a sail to mend every time the storm ravages it.
No, I am not going back from here. To keep intact my sanity, I look up at the sky, then at the few smiling faces at the other end of the ship……….Oh, I’m stronger than them.
I swell with pride, I am their reason to smile.
As for me, I have to hold tight lest the storm gets the better of us. This storm outside is better than the one that rages inside……inside, yes, I dare not look there.
To admit, to confess, to go deep down into my tormented soul needs courage.
Because the concentric layers would unfold a tsunami……..impossible for any enormous and well managed ship to bear.
But here it is my ship I talk about, that has been tossed into the wild wild sea, where fathoms below lies a web of spirits, waiting to gobble us up the moment we sink a little.
Hence I write this while the harsh unruly breeze rummages through my rough hair.Just so that I know later when the storm has died that I had held on firmly, alone and strategically tough.