Ghost Of Hers

It is another one of those kinds of mornings. Tears streaming down her face. Her heart is breaking into a million pieces in all directions. She can’t remember a heartbreak that bore a chasmic well, and yet, she remembers it so much detail. This was a gaping karmic wound that was not resolved and somehow, has found its way back to living memory. Some see it as depression, others see pain as expiation. Or, for the few, a theosophical inquiry into the constructs of science and (against) spirituality. Every day since, there is this nebulous cloud hanging over her head, over her shoulders and reaching deep into her soul.

Photo by Sebastiano Piazzi on Unsplash

It was another one of those tragic nights. Tears streaming down a screen. And, her heart is tearing into half, this time, pulled by mysterious forces only darkness can know. She can’t remember such an inexplicable heartache, yet she remembers it as though it was just yester-year. An unseen, underlying pain is slowly festering, and it has somehow clawed its way back into the daily rhythms of life. Some see this as addiction, others view pain as holistic appropriation. Or, for the few, pain represents an inward journey into the social constructs of the mind, entirely made up by yours and mine.

So, this is life — constantly torn between the right and the wrong; pleasures and pains. There is a turbulent whirlpool in the middle of the ocean, but who can tell the waters to stay calm? Inside every seed of sadness is a plant waiting to be understood. Inside every plant, is a soul that needs a place to go. Who would you rather be — the destination over the journey, or both?

Photo by Matt Howard on Unsplash

This Jungian quote, “Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darkness of other people. One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious. The most terrifying thing is to accept oneself completely. Your visions will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.”

When she looked at her watch again, it was time to say goodbye to the ghosts that had plagued her all night long, surfacing at every possible chance to remind her that the healing is far from finished. She did not forget that they hang around because she feeds them. Some days, she feeds them morsels of steak. Other days, she feeds them pieces of herself wrapped in solitary words. There were sacrificial days of fasting and days where they haunt her, especially in the early hours of the morning. Half asleep between liminal portals which contain the most transience of raw feelings.

Photo by Michael Förtsch on Unsplash

But not anymore. It is time to set this ghost, free. Because don’t forget, for every flight, there is a steep fall. One cannot know light without also knowing darkness. So light a candle, and bid that ghost farewell.


Once upon a time,

I met the longing in my mind.

Longing taught me to compose

poetry and,

desire beautiful prose.

Longing taught me to perceive,

to really see, and,

to feel –

in the hardest possible way.

I gave in to my longing.

I let it have its way with me.

Longing bent my spirit,

In order to set me free.


I was not really free.

Gradually, I became

a slave

to Longing.

The dams of my heart burst

at the sight of raw sorrow.

The fetters of my mind came off,

after drinking in all my fears.

Longing lulled me with wings.

It also gave me chains.

Enough flight to soar,

to remind me, every

once in a while,

to fall.

I broke my own heart,

l-l-longing after birds who have

long flown far away.




Emerging poet & writer finding her way in her world of words and feelings. Tweets @lishen_sim

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Li Shen J

Li Shen J

Emerging poet & writer finding her way in her world of words and feelings. Tweets @lishen_sim

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