- Vol. 07
- Chapter 12
In the garden of the self
It is now the season of harvest
and the sun shines bright, blinding me with its golden brilliance,
shining as bright as the golden strands of corn and maize bursting forth from my scalp
The rakes that are my fingers
comb through the lustrous golden stalks
as I sit cross-legged and meditate
Inner peace eludes me
so I reach for the garden shears
and trim away the unwanted excesses
The watering can too plays its role
nurturing me and sustaining me
just like the mossy peat beneath my feet
The peat that was formed from all the forefathers before me
has molded me well
and shaped me into what I am…what I wish to be
Yet, you could not stand to see that
could not let me be me
So what did you do?
You planted a bed of roses on my heart.
Untended, the thorns pricked through my skin.
Blood seeped through, coating the already crimson