I was holding on to my hair

as if it was


but it was.

it was a part of me

dead, and growing

tangled, and falling,

dry, and demanding.


I was holding on to my hair

like I was holding on to

hope –

that damned thing.

there is no such thing as hope

there is only suffering and liberation

hope just delays one of

these inevitables.


I was holding on to my hair

like some people hold on to

their gods and their countries,

as if they chose all of those.

dead cells are by-products of

life, and such deadly

ideologies are by – products

of existing in fear.


How long are you going to

hold on then ?

let go too soon,

and there isn’t much to ;

let go too late,

and there’s too much.


I say, burn the damn hair

and smear your soul

with its ashes !


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