I cloud myself in the grandeur of oblivion, and in the enthusiastic solemnity of the breeze I walk through,
I wish that it should blow me away;
That the studs of my heels should soak in cathartic relief, that the bristles on my limbs should purr in the healing flurry of the wind,
That my eyes should be swept of all shaming water, that the slightest of movements should rattle thunder in my ears,
That I should be free.
That my scalp laden with thorns and shattering acorns should burst through all above me, knowing full well there is no respite to my ascension
That like a puff of chimney smoke I should be inconspicuous and plain, yet freshly disappear and ordinarily transcend
But unlike smoke, I be chastised, and adorned with newborn knowledge, raw senses grappling, as I sleek out of my earthly identity
That I should not battle forces that wrench me down, only cede to my sole upward madness
That I should exist, that I should hover.
That I should spot the sweating daily commuter, and his wild scamper as if escaping from a trawler, only to board another
That I should hear the wishful whistle in the grocer’s rant, only a step afore the hurling sirens of impatience on the road
That I should seek the remarkable calls of the sparrows, unlike the people below me who brusquely swat at them,
That I should know the emerging wisdom that materialises a few metres above the earth, as if one saw life begin again from afar
And yearn like an infant to crawl, to run, to live, only to learn that walking wore the wisdom away, and I shall fall into a circle of agony and ambivalence again,
That I should experience only these specks, yet see the whole, that is my wish.
That I should float up the atmosphere and the pressure bleed out my pores, in a freeing eruption, a relieved tension, like bandages ripped off a healed wound
That I should surrender to the sky my vibrating heart and let it feed my breaths according to its holy will
The sky my executor and me at the end of its axe, that I should be under its command yet also guided by the authority of my new understanding
That the door to knowledge finally be open, and my lowly pains seem auxiliary to my newfound glow,
And the scorching sun laconic and taciturn, shine its torch to acknowledge, that this is what it means to be finally free.
