Edges of the Head

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  A head is not merely bone and skin, but a chamber of storms, where thought churns like restless seas and colours spill beyond their edges. What can the brain contain? It holds infinities, yet bends beneath routines: the labour of survival, the weight of names, the endless tally of tasks that tether imagination to necessity. Once there was a freedom— a childhood bright with unscripted hues, where colours did not ask permission to scatter, and play was the only labour. But thresholds arrive, drawn by institutions, by timetables, by the slow narrowing of sky into ceiling. Here the child learns to sit, to raise a hand, to speak in sequence, to dream only in sanctioned hours. The head adapts. It absorbs order as it once absorbed wonder, and the saturation of colour dims into function. Yet at the edges, still, the threshold glimmers— a reminder that within the skull’s dark theatre there lingers a pulse of rebellion, a fragment of the child unwilling to be tamed. And perhaps that ...

Shelves of the Living

The market hums—
a chorus of bargaining,
of footsteps and echoes,
of countless eyes searching
for something worth taking home.

Here we stand,
not as wanderers,
but as wares.
Each human a product,
wrapped in labels of skill,
tags of identity,
price etched in years of struggle.

Some gleam under bright displays,
polished resumes,
voices rehearsed for persuasion.
Others gather dust in corners,
their worth unseen,
their silence mistaken for flaw.

We learn to package ourselves—
to hide the cracks,
to exaggerate the shine.
Education is branding,
religion the seal of authenticity,
experience the warranty.
And still,
in the crowded bazaar of existence,
not all are chosen.

The unsold wait,
day after day,
wondering if value lies within
or only in the gaze of the buyer.
To be purchased is survival,
to be overlooked is exile.
And yet,
in both,
the freedom of being human
shrinks into the captivity of commerce.

Perhaps the cruelest truth
is that no one leaves untouched.
Sold or unsold,
we are all traded—
in currencies of approval,
of belonging,
of need.

And when the stalls close,
when the lights dim,
we are left asking:
Were we ever more than goods
on the shelves of the living?