How do you break into your anatomy
and give depression a good fright?
Sometimes you feel like
it has no entry for you to sip yourself into
or an exit for you to probe out the sensation.
Poetry seems to be another hymn
you mutter when thuds increase
in-between your ribs—
When, too, a bright beam fumes
everyone’s lungs to the brim
except yours. The night
slips under the crowds cladding
the rays that leap on you with itself.
These are times you know how hard
a coconut shell is to break—depression.
And a smiley mask you used to put on
breaks at a swift stride time makes.
Your throat is stitched with an incomplete
stanza—one which keeps your lips from
moving about like the door of a busy
coffee shop along a bustling road.
Choolwe Lubaya is a poet and a fiction writer who writes from Lusaka, Zambia. His works have appeared in The New Ink Review and Amashiwii Journal.