Hi! I am Ditsa. Or as most people know me, Ditto. Sometimes, just D.
Mostly, I am a seven-year-old stuck in the body of a nineteen-year-old, but at other times, I am a forty-one-year-old woman having a terrible midlife crisis. I write. Sketch once in a while. Dream. Die. Disintegrate. I live.
I find solace in old books, a lover’s arms, and cigarette smoke.
I come from
A skeleton of bricks and cement
That has been standing there for too long.
A disputed construction site.
I come from graveyards,
That smells of freshly dug earth,
Of families that ceased to be,
I come from poetry
Scribbled on suicide notes,
The kind of poetry
That makes you immortal
Only after you die.
I come from a book of disaster management,
That talks of tornadoes wreaking havoc,
And of earthquakes reducing whole towns,
I come from the no man’s land
That lies between life and death
Between black and white,
Between two consecutive words
In a poem.
I come from ruined destinies,
And with every step I take,
I head closer to the places
I come from.
The earth is round,
I hope you like whatever you read on this blog. I’ll be eagerly looking forward to constructive criticism.
Thank you. 🙂