To the bird, the river smiles,
like a thousand leaves fluttering,
shimmering and shaking,
each claiming
a piece of sun,
each claiming
to be a piece of sun.
To the bird, the leaf rebels,
scorns the metaphor.
A thousand voices thunder:
I suck in the sun.
I am the sun!
I borrowed the words of others
To face the truth
The unmistakable presence of reality
My tongue swirled, blurted out sounds
My eyes looked down, searched for nothing
The ears got a lot from all
I repeated what I heard
My sense was not constant
My fear was
What I saw, what I said, what I felt
Didn’t matter
For, he was not there
To watch, to feel, to hear
He was there
A month ago
I said what I said
Unpolished, raw, unleashed
My words.
Not borrowed.
RamGanapathy.com 