From the tree perspective
The humans were dauntingly free with feet in the place of roots
And little children grew up very similar to how their flowers evolve into fruits
And although not possessing the bucolic static of the trees,
Humans seemed doomed to pass away in the same place they held their first breath
Going through their existence anguishing about the short length of life and their impeding death.
There is in the heart of the trees a profound yearning for each other
Resembling a fulfilling adoration between someone and their lover;
Or also similar to the devotion of a proud son to an aging father,
Who can not seem to see the slow but steady changing of the seasons
And is still mourning the cruel loss of a partner
And as they silently watch the sun go down, both filled with grief
The tree thought to itself how not long ago the father was also a child who climbed its branches,
And for a second, just a second, the tree agreed that life is brief.
The humans were dauntingly free with feet in the place of roots
And little children grew up very similar to how their flowers evolve into fruits
And although not possessing the bucolic static of the trees,
Humans seemed doomed to pass away in the same place they held their first breath
Going through their existence anguishing about the short length of life and their impeding death.
There is in the heart of the trees a profound yearning for each other
Resembling a fulfilling adoration between someone and their lover;
Or also similar to the devotion of a proud son to an aging father,
Who can not seem to see the slow but steady changing of the seasons
And is still mourning the cruel loss of a partner
And as they silently watch the sun go down, both filled with grief
The tree thought to itself how not long ago the father was also a child who climbed its branches,
And for a second, just a second, the tree agreed that life is brief.
There are choices in the virtue and beauty in the vices
It's the heart of human condition and the esteem behind its kindness
My voice uneasy, reminds my loved ones:
No sole soul is alone in bliss or blossom,
There is perseverance in trying and love in the undying patience we have for ourselves,
Paradoxically, defiance can be trust,
Thus, nothing can ever extinguish the hearts of rebels.
In worrying about roaming without destination or doing it alone,
We forget that the ones we love will bury us to sleep when the time comes,
And if we are fortunate, it will be peaceful as a child being sang to sleep
With tender last words, and a longing goodbye glance
There is peace in the future and tenderness in the unknown,
Furthermore, never the sea, the moon, or the sun, will let you walk this world alone.
Imagining if the moon shrinked itself into the size of a wrinkled piece of
paper
Ready to unfold as an empty temple deprived of prayers
Cursing its own hands as the moon's jailer
Downside of a green lake with no reflection anymore
Where someone was mistakenly called a betrayer
For having unrequited love for a forsaken religion
Fearful of god as if he owned him a favor
Blinded with shame, regret and inhibition
Equating moral failure to a strange kind of prison
Signing his wisdom as unappreciated labour.
paper
Ready to unfold as an empty temple deprived of prayers
Cursing its own hands as the moon's jailer
Downside of a green lake with no reflection anymore
Where someone was mistakenly called a betrayer
For having unrequited love for a forsaken religion
Fearful of god as if he owned him a favor
Blinded with shame, regret and inhibition
Equating moral failure to a strange kind of prison
Signing his wisdom as unappreciated labour.
Being there tasted like regret but not as much if I hadn’t gone,
Similar as starting a day waiting for the dawn
Watering flowers upside down,
Hoping for archaic truths to grow
Forgetting that nature is cyclical but growth is steady and slow.
Someone screamed about the absence of need for metaphors,
I interpreted it as disrespecting the gracefulness of words
Undermining the existence of secondary, but equally necessary, platonic worlds
Made of the dressing of expressions with beauty and meaning
To undress them with a sensuality present only in the act of lingering
Similar as starting a day waiting for the dawn
Watering flowers upside down,
Hoping for archaic truths to grow
Forgetting that nature is cyclical but growth is steady and slow.
Someone screamed about the absence of need for metaphors,
I interpreted it as disrespecting the gracefulness of words
Undermining the existence of secondary, but equally necessary, platonic worlds
Made of the dressing of expressions with beauty and meaning
To undress them with a sensuality present only in the act of lingering
The pillars of reason rise alone without ever being accounted for
Similar to how those who plant seeds won’t see their forests bloom,
As mothers raise children they will never see fully grown,
I pave roads to places that will forever remain unknown,
Gazing uninterruptedly at life until concepts start rearranging themselves into some sort of meaning that resonates with me,
And to this day I don't know if that imprisons or if it sets free.
Nevertheless, I'm still the person I used to be:
The one who invented her own gods and felt like part of the sea.
How can we be sure if we left the womb?
If every beam of morning light feels like the first one to ever cross my eyes
And there are not enough languages to answer the whys,
No matter how many Babel towers we assemble with heresy-tainted stone
Chiselling the reasoning to forge the expected outcome,
Letting the free-will rust and the mind aching and sore.
Therefore, I refuse to overcategorize emotional matters anymore,
I used to not be able to fathom growth unless it was a conscious choice of mine,
Now I see that change is constant and everlasting,
And what doesn't evolve is doomed to drown, curl up and die
Perhaps these are thoughts I should not entertain, and maybe the answer is that things change just by staying the same.