as a young child
with a handful of dandelions in hand
and futures yet to be
i watch the flutters of the winds picking up
its seeds
with my little hands
i blow
and let the tiny dandelion seeds
scatter to the winds
with it the molecules of my breath
carries many of mes’
and sets itself on a journey,
to the ends of my lived earth.
it plants itself, gently
onto the heads and hands
of those that are destined with
what short, what long time it sees with me.
it stays there and plants itself like little trees
growing the seed that is the little me's' name,
smile and face.
and it creates imaginations, it creates dreams
it ponders upon the little me’s’ essence it ponders upon the little me’s’ dreams
with which little me carry, planted within,
with the names, smiles and faces of destined paths that are to begin,
and the trees planted in little me create stories, imaginations and dreams
with which some are tainted and some are at ease.
and like trees those little leaves of smiles, faces and names scatter and fall.
yet some carry on to strengthen at its core.

n.b