Do not talk to me in a known tongue
I speak in the language of dry leaves
whispering on brown branches in autumn
Do not ask me to reproduce letters
I remember the lyrics in songs of birds
crooning to the green earth at dawn
Do not look for me on these dusty streets
I dance in the patterns of flaring comets
streaking across the sky in radiant abandon
Do not hold me as a being of this world
I've molded my body with the soil of otherness
gathering centuries of tranquility in my hand
Another awesome one! It's nice to see you shed light so beautifully on how it helps to know who one 'is not' in order to know who one 'is'. I simply adore the lines "Do not look for me on these dusty streets, I dance in the patterns of flaring comets". I think that's how we see you too:)
ReplyDeleteThanks! Glad you liked it :) I've always had this otherworldly existence - some may call it 'head in the clouds' - but I think it's more an affinity towards things that are beyond the realm of our five senses. If there's something I crave all the time, it's freedom from the bonds of this world and its tedious routine existence.
Delete