Thoughts on being uprooted

I’m leaving so much behind, to discover so much more. The memories tangle, like streams of water. They twirl around my fingers, a rushing tap, a never-ending flow…smoothening out the coarse surface of my young hands, moving in parallel with my veins, streams of blood and water together separated by a fine line, the skin that covers me like a sheet in the night—that feels the warmth, the frost, the pain and most of all, the one true thing that is a signpost to my coloured name. See the hues of brown, the early creases of age, the lines of fate, the palm of my hands, surrender unchanged.

I bring the water, cupped to my lips, parched skins drinks and

I am filled.
Let go of the water, on my nose, hangs a drop, a liquid crystal, a transparent fluid rock.
It sustains me now,
it’ll sustain me then
when all I’ll have is life
and when I’ll need my friends.
How far away will we be?
No more, no more!
When one talks of a rose,
does one talk of how it rose from the ground,
how its seeds flowered and bloomed,
only to be plucked, cut from familiar bonds,
a scar left behind. But the roots untouched.
No matter how far I travel,
to the ends of the earth,
or standing on my doorstep,
no matter where I go,
I will leave behind something,
and discover that where there is a window, there is a door,
and I will walk through, moving forward, leaving my roots where none were left for me, leaving them where I found them,
in the earth,
in the water,
in my fingers,
in my blood, 
in my home.

Piha, New Zealand - when in doubt, always go to a beach. if anything, you'll see there's more to life than standing on the shore.


22 February 2012 14:49:12