We had a conversation, and like so many of our conversations it took an unexpected detour. And so we ended up travelling along a byroad of riddles we both knew from childhood. This then led us to devise some riddles of our own, with the added rule that they must be six words each—no more, no less. See if you, Dear Reader, can guess the answers!
PS: It was quite tricky to come up with these by the way!
Dry when wet, soaked when parched.
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020
On these damp and grey November days I think
Of things that should have happened but never did.
Of conversations that were never spoken
Afraid to raise the memories from the dead.
Of the questions that were formed but never asked.
Of the the horrors that were felt but never breathed.
Of carefully made plans that never began.
Of the dreams discarded like old newspapers.
I never finished that book, that course that day.
I never figured out what I was feeling.
I never found all the words I tried to speak.
I never look back, never ever look back.
I should’ve told her how he was hurting me.
I should’ve screamed and kicked and made him stop it.
I should’ve bit down hard when I had the chance.
I should have cut his throat as he slept at night.
I could’ve been anything I wanted to.
I could’ve worked harder, been more compliant.
I could’ve been less terrified of success.
I could’ve done better, could’ve done much better.
I never developed a strong sense of self.
I never knew who I was supposed to be.
I never learned to trust my intuition.
I never really understood my feelings.
I learned to switch off and disassociate.
I learned that alcohol kept the pain at bay.
I learned that I was damaged, unloveable.
I earned not to trust people, they would hurt me.
All the wasted time of wishing I was dead
All the years never truly daring to live.
All the hurt I’ve done to others in my rage.
All this time I’ve let you walk around unharmed.
Now here I am still broken but not giving up.
Now I know my childhood was stolen from me.
Now I can survey the damage done to me.
Now I’m going to take the final fight to
On these damp and grey November days I know
The things that should have never happened, but did.
Of the revelations that were never heard
It’s time to raise the memories from the dead.
by RICHARD GREEN
© All rights reserved 2019
I’m grateful to my father
for Maupassant and Poe
who were forgotten on the highest shelf
If a book falls into my hands by itself
and says, “Read me, bro!”
would I really bother?
by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2015