Of Paper and Ash.

I hope you all feel well and okay. Count ten breaths and see my words take form.

I am at work. It is around midday and the sun, well the sun is being the sun.

Everyone is there.

The usual birds are around too. I think they like my aura.

But today I am sitting in the open, but in a corner away from the eyes of the people.

But the birds can see me.

The trees can feel me and the worms understand it.

I am adoring the darkness that makes me part of who I am.

It looks like a pit but it is warm within.

It looks bad and dark but it has stars on it.

And the Old man who watches us work starts bellowing, bull style!


I never judge him.

He cannot manage imagination.

He cannot see through doors and laces of time.

My body smiles and goes back to work. A shell bending and working.

I wasn’t there.

I was still at the sight of the birds.

And together we were wondering,

How the sun was shining and it was dark.

Then one bird coughs a song.

It doesn’t sing, it coughs.

Too loud to be false it sings,

“Paper burn. Paper ash.”

~Koome Manyara~

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