A tall tree with its feet underground.
(Always listens with its arms open around.)
I see now: how a bough connects the other,
How one gives way to another,
How it spreads out with all its might
Just as so, to join others' fight;
And how
Each bears the weight of fruits and flowers alike.
My ears
can see you speak.
But solely, in the presence of the pure wind
To whom you cede your faith
And dance in the openness: that is this face.
Your roots integrated with the fallen bones
Add to your strength to hold on tight.
All the while learning from the life below
What we need:
To crawl, in the beginning of life.


"We walk because you decide not to."

If you start with the eyes—
Rest becomes beautifully negligible

I find myself in a museum (in my mind)
Peering at your painting mounted on this eye;
No landscape more picturesque,
No portrait more honest, eyes more innocent
Than yours can I find.

Aromas of childhood wafting through
Are they immortal in you, O wayward Wind?
For I've aged in myself
metamorphosing through linear years;
And the freshness of youth which was once beheld, now
Has all but been buried under the dunes
Of shifting memories accumulated;
Where there once was an oasis of innocence—
Where bathed this pristine soul;
But since has been evaporating from this cloudless arid clime.

Methinks you've vaulted my scent of nascent-hood
O dear, dear omnipresent Wind,
So that I may inhale the tang of youth
Cycled back by your exhalation
So that I, may gulp a self, that was once closer to the truth.

A rock out of reason
Was placed in front of me
I then did traverse
Since no end was seen.

And so, keeping this head down.
I heeded all the travelling feet,
Along with a few faces
That compelled me—to feel.

But now, a mistake had been sensed:
This gaze was always fixed,
On a road shaped by mortal hands.
Oblivious to the ubiquitous–hidden forces.

Not soon, did I realize:
The true bearers of this circle
Which can never be spoken to,
But, invariably, be heard.

O silence, O darkness
Tuck me under your blanket
For light overwhelms this, inundates this with too much information
Which the longer it's exposed to the more it veers away from everything that was once simple,
Everything that was once inimitable
Has lost its essence in regurgitation—
In the cyclic chambers of the conscious.

Bring me back that child which operated with the unknowns of the unconscious
Needed no definitions, needed no shape to comprehend
For whom everything was continuous—viewing everything amorphously like the fluid which flows through her.

(All I ever do lately is hanker for the light
Thinking it'll be the saving grace
Thinking procuring more knowledge will get me closer to serenity
To build and build and feed the ever hungry conquered soul
All the time speculating, measuring, calculating...)

No, sap away the water from my roots
Shrivel away the veins of retention
O! embrace me that which lingers on endlessly in the background
Take this platform, take the mike, take this person
Cacoon her in nothingness
For she wishes not to see her imperfect reflection in the presets of man-made life anymore.