8 March 2008
Lying, sleeping, climbing in the hills of my forefathers
A part of heritage lost and found
A hope to find a clue to identity
A clue to self - inner constant me
Yet to find anything in this emptiness
Why the dark unforgiving unknown
Where does the future go?
A love, a life, a foundation you thought you owned,
Was lost
A notion of self, gone.
A notion of pride forgotten.
Here atop a hill beneath the skies,
The mountains laugh,
Silently.
The clouds roll gently above the tops,
Uncaring, empty, full of air
Self hate, self loathing,
permeates the mind and heart.
Purity deceived.
These hills, what have they done to me...
Clouds empty into the mist
Indistinguishable dust
What evil lies ahead,
What solitary definition of self will you come up with?
Will you be buoyed by the winds like the clouds
and then dissolve into the mist...
Or will you grow strong as the hills, grow hearts and minds as deep as the valleys,
With purity of water pulsing through your veins
What choices have led me here?
A passerby walks on, wondering who I am,
why am I alone?
Dear Sir, aren't we all?
For in the end, we die alone
For in the end, it's life for One.
Yet where is He.
He is all around.
Yet we do not see.
Am I seeking Thee with selflessness or with selfish fear?
Guilt I suppose, guilt it is.
Yet again, a sin.
A part of me wishes to escape, to end, to let go.
A part fears being alone.
Dependence, yet empty,
Void
Nada
Nothing.
The hills stay silent...
Not a clue
Not a whisper...
