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Tuesday, February 14, 2017

i and i

it has been some time
that the thought of death
has visited nor called
or i have not answered
i can't remember
the last time i felt closely
the beating of my heart

it is as if i have forgotten
all the little details of my family home
the lines creasing my grandmother's forehead
the taste of fresh fallen rain through the open window
the perfume of simmering rice
my sister's laughter
my father's stories
my mother's patience

a lifetime ago
i picked up a pen
and wrote on a blank page
what was I looking for?
love? self-understanding?
with whose voice was I speaking?
not mine
not then, not now

it has been some time
that i have listened to that urge
that first stirred me to write
a lifetime ago

it is not i who writes
it is a part of i
and i am a part of i

what do i say to myself now
after one lifetime
what does the part of i now
say to i now and a part of i then?
what stories to share?
what wisdom to relinquish/turn over?

there is no one listening but us
what half truths and lies am i willing to give up?
either i live and die this way
or i release myself from falsehoods i sustain

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