Why do I say the truth
Why do I say anything at all
If it is here
As a pebble in a brook
For all to see
Can you
Can I
Can we see?
It might be
That the brook became a once upon a time entity
Whereupon the passage of times
And our implicit contempt
For the once clear waters
Brought the brook to its present murky
Stale state of being
The pebbles as the hidden seeds
Of the lotus yet to be
Can I
Can you
Can we see?
And so we choose to see
What we want to see
And so we choose not to say
What we really want to say
And so the ripples grow larger and further
And so does the fertile ground for contempt
On this distorted, compulsive, capricious mirror
Do we stand too self-righteous
Do we dare to plunge the murky waters
After all who wants dirty hands
For all to see
Better to blame a faceless Goddess
Plunge the knife deeper into the redemptive body
Than to deal with this cry
And so the transformation
From seed to glorious lotus
Remains a dream
A yearning
Rotting painfully within the seed
On the bottom of a brook
For all to see
Oh! We do see it
We are not defeated yet
For as long as the surf can be heard on these shores
As long as the moonlight makes our presence known
On the sandy, shadowy grounds
As long as the tides flow and the seasons come and go
For as long as our skin is sun-kissed
We are here
And we came to stay
The body might stumble and bleed and hide to heal
But this is our home
The creative womb
We cannot die
Although we might yet lie
Might yet say anything at all
What will come of it
Remains yet to be seen
Bare hands on bare skin
Or the barren landscape of another self-indulgent war
Where all becomes a vain death
But the creative womb
That will never cease to be
What will we make of it
Remains as yet to be seen
Dust in the breeze of the cosmic sea
Or tree in a field of sunflowers
And poppies to be.
Celia M Paulo
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