Still Drowning
Undigested truths
I tried to give my sorrow to the wind.
The breeze told me my gift was too heavy a burden
to carry for eternity
and flung a bunch of leaves at my feet.
What a good role model the wind is.
The sand preached humility.
It pointed to one of its tiny grains
shining in the midday frenzy
of the life-giving, killer ball
burning over my head
full of anguish.
I’m smaller than that crystal speck
compared to the beach,
to say nothing of the cosmos.
The sun was merciless.
Its biting rays mocked my pride.
I dreamt of holing up and waiting out
in the drab cool of the shade.
Why feel the burn if hiding was the answer?
The ocean’s roughness mirrored my emotions.
The dark blue told me not to go too deep
if drowning was not my purpose.
I dived into the water,
as salty as the lament of my eyes.
The ripples cuddled me with motherly affection.
Yet I was down on my knees,
belittled by a rushing wave.
It taught me that my pain
was a just cautionary tale
of all that was to come
and that hurt was an integral part of life.
The insights flooded me.
I got that my ipseity
was merely a phantom, like a rainbow,
and that all the agony inside me
was a grim side product of my mind.
I wish that nature’s voice
had a much stronger resonance
throughout my mental landscape.
Having escaped the madness of the waves,
I continued drowning in my tears.
© Masha Zubareva 2023
