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Grey Sparrow Journal

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
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Leaving Myself

 

1. Happiness with myriad arms could fly to me

    on the wings of the wind,

    from where I left it,

    at a fork in the road.

    Instead, I lifted Sorrow,  

    waiting at the fork of two roads, with amputated, mutilated limbs, into the    

    crook of an arm.

    Sorrow,

    that wanted to fasten herself to children, widows and the old.

 

2. I left Happiness,

    glowing with transparent light,

    fed by eternal springs...midstream...

    for it could fly to me on the wings of the waters.

    Instead,

    I carried Sorrow.

    For had I left her,

    she would have waited on the banks,

    setting traps for fertile fields.

 

3. I left myself in tender hands,

    as a torch of wheat stalks,

    aid to cross rivers, trudge gorges,

    and follow stony paths.

    It sings the melody of radiance

    and streams forth ashes,

    enriching the soil.

 

4. I left myself in soft lips,

    closed fists,

    strong chests

    and warm grips...

    I left myself.

 

    -Bishwa Sigdel