How to listen

I feel out of touch.


Exempt from that flowing

current of life

wherein everything seems right.

I don’t talk to the trees anymore,

and they ignore

me back.

A two-way mistrust.

But in my dreams I am one

with the world, with

nature and the elements

and myself.

I swim in

an endless black ocean,

its ripples incandescent from the

pale glowing spectre

hanging above.

My gaze extends forever

over layered mountain ranges,

each growing

smaller and paler with

the distance between I and they.

I sit in the reeds of

a riverbank

among green and yellow stalks,

a duck glides

past, I can see

its webbed feet working


and backwards.

As I trek over hills,

the land welcomes me.

I can feel its eagerness to have me

as one of its own,

it does not

discriminate as it rightly could

against me.

But in my waking hours

the land does not welcome me.

I don’t remember it.

I have become




When focused only on the

minuscule splatter

I am in this painting,

it becomes easy to forget the

plethora of colours

and textures

and brushstrokes that

surround me.

Perhaps the trees never

ceased talking

to me, I

just forgot

how to listen.


2 thoughts on “How to listen

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