Critical, creative and digital writingEcriture critique, créative et numérique

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05 2016  

The Tree of Me

For numerous revolutions

I have seen the light of day

gleam on what I thought was my ageless skin.

It seems, now, I was mistaken,

for I was ageing without my knowing.

For numerous cycles of daily light and nightly shades,

of sleepy sighs and wakeful says,

I have felt the winds of yonder

brush past my careless ears,

and I have now realised that minding

those environs I'd smelt were made of dust

was nothing wrong, for the leaves of time

cannot stay put, when the breeze of heights

reminds them of their fate.

I am now certain

knowing and doing

are the same

I am now certain

seeing and hearing

touching and smelling

moving and feeling

are but one

and the same

I am now certain

living and dying

are the same

speaking and writing

are the same

growing and withering

are one and the same

I am now certain

that all and

its opposite

are the same

that you and I

and he and she

are the same

are but one

and the same

I am now certain

I am


in complex thinking and writing.

I am grounded

in thoughts that sink in and settle.

I know not

why my self is as such,

but I know

that it drinks

from the earth.