I live in the land of intuitions now.
Here, we don’t make the rules, and we follow no principles.
We don’t ever ask why. Or we do ask.
We scream why, and the void says no.
No, why is not a question.
Only what is.
I wander the ruins of past lives.
Who were these people who lived here,
And who was I, who was I?
I pick up the dust of their houses and bones.
I breathe it in.
It smells of something I had forgotten.
Endlessly I wander, and let the ghosts touch my hair.
Black birds circle, overhead.
I think they’re waiting, for the moment I sit down.
Admit that I don’t know where I am going.
But where am I going? Where even am I?
And why don’t I know?
Slowly I keep walking, walking, walking,
Breathing under the open sky,
Watching the birds watch me,
Watching the sky and the stars, listening to their sounds.
I stop, and let my hand touch the ground.
What is this, I want to ask.
What is this, and what am I?