Waiting in the cold stream So belongs the catfish Rummaging through the murk His meals lay yearning to be found by his whiskers - Wings bathed in sunlight The osprey glides and prowls in hunger The wind urges below his wings His chirps and calls are dedicated to his lands unfurled below - The soul is seated on your mind your heart your womb He wanders about your dreams Forever searching for treasures within all that you keep - I’ve nuzzled up to many a tree But I have not yet found my home The sun welcomes me Knocks on every window But the blinds are shut.
From the Author
This has been a weird season, people. Despite my posting late again, I actually wrote plenty this week. However, most of it was of the intimate vulnerable type, and I always have to decide whether or not to share those in this kind of setting. (Also, the sea of one’s soul often writes in complete gibberish).
Anyways. This work of mine captures a bit of my pseudo-animistic worldview. I’ve always mourned a bit; how unbalanced human existence is. We have the greatest individual intellect of any creature we know of. We have used this intelligence to become the masters of this entire land. And yet man is the most miserable creature of them all despite this… the creature most detached from the very land he covets.
Sometimes I wonder if this was the only way we could have turned out. Maybe if we were more humble during our rise to power, we could have retained the ability to bask in the sun.
The Poetry of Ants 