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Saturday, January 30, 2010

Pictures in Sand

Brown haired boy drawing in the sand,
The wind waving his hair and he continues
Painting pictures of beliefs of happiness...
Waves lash around and he continues
A soft murmur from the tress ahead
But he cared not to look up
He has the stick and he continues
Looking down at his creations
And how happy he feels
Turning his face to his right,
He saw the boulder that had stood there for long
As long as he could remember
He longed to look beyond it
But he was too short
And he thought he was too weak
So he went up to the shore line,
And then up the gentle slope of sand
Only to witness his height altered.
Climbing to the top of a coconut tree
Afraid of falling
And afraid of crying with pain
He looked now, beyond the boulder.
All he could see was water
He was disappointed
But then he turned to crawl back down

He had been longing for something that he had possessed for too long
Ignoring the murmurs from the trees
Ignoring all that could change his life
All that he cared not for...
He had given himself up to the boulder
For too long,
He cried now for he saw what he should have seen earlier
Tiny people
The same size as him and
The same make as him
He thought that he would crawl down and run to them
But when he came down, he thought
He thought that he should, once again,
Go and see the pictures
He saw the pictures
The pictures were from inside him
He destroyed them...
Not really...
Those pictures still remain,
But they no longer haunt him
He unburdened himself
And he walked to the other side

He is sad now.
He is sad for he was happy alone.
The grass is always greener on the other side.
He thinks now, of the time when he can
Once again...
Go back to his sand,
And hold his brush
And draw again...
Away from people
Away from opinions
And away from attachment
His boulder was his support
But he felt too weak now.
He was too weak.

Some weeks ago
I saw the boy again
He held the hand of a tall woman
She guided him to security
Away from the lecherous little people
To fire and to warmth
To seclusion and to contentment
Away from the boulder
To a new land
And a new thought
And a new form
She left him there
To find his own way
And grow up by himself.

I met the boy today
He was crying
I reached out to touch his face
And he reached out to touch mine.

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