I sit here
In stillness amidst
The breeze of August’s air
There is a seed of hope
Somewhere flew passed by me
37 how I have been here for that long
& have yet known
Who I am
Even until this very moment
I tenderly look into the pond
Where a glance of my own
Soul glaring against the
Blurry surface of my eyes
& wonder
Again
If I had met myself
What story would I tell her?
I sigh heavily & deeply into
The core of my depth
Oxygen
Of earth
Reaching inside me
Carrying the old dusty memory
Out of me
& in stillness
The wind whistles for attention
Caressing my face
Do I know who I am?
Will she know me when she met me again
In another body?
Soft glaze, a bowl of thoughts
Floating, uncompleted
Where has my day been
When words came to trick
Me out of my madness
& gently nudge me into
The nooks of reality?
Alas!
Here, I have gained
The weight of my own
Inconclusive ponder of
My very existence
& thus I too became
A fleeting, merely temporary
Object of another’s affection
Like the winter’s end,
Falling leaves
Withering with their old shells
ready for spring

© D C de Oliveira || August 16 2020 || Sunday 9.17am
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