As if a thousand daggers,
A sword of cold iron!
Could stop me.
Yet.
It is not about being stopped,
Is it?
We take the time to crouch down –
Listen to the whispers of single souls.
That is how one learns peace.
No warpath can sate the hunger,
No vengeance can stop the cycles.
Could tell you that looking –
In mirrors –
Disgusts me.
See a wretched husk of flesh,
A cage that cannot be escaped.
A silent force that compels me to look away.
Warring upon such a shell?
Would never grant me peace.
Only mire me deeper in agony.
You cannot stop me,
Because stopping for you is duty.
Elevation from ignorance,
Salvation from arrogance,
Freedom from self.
If there is but one boon –
This disassociation of decades has granted me,
Release from worldly tethers.
Truest contemplation.
A single soul with the universe,
In my hands.
Can you hear the bees?
The wails of children?
The anguished cries of those left behind,
When death comes gentle,
Or fearsome.
Take it from me –
Violence brings no solace,
Only more pain.
Can you sit cross-legged with the small?
See them as crucial?
Be they ant,
Or be they human?
Sitting Cross-Legged With The Small.
