One Morning, The Ants

Installation by Rafael Gomezbarros

I saw a young man kneeling on the path,

saying sorry to a bunch of ants,

some he'd killed inadvertently

whilst striding along.

.

He mumbled to the carcasses

"I didn't mean to, believe me,

I was just careless while I walked,

you're as important to me,

as are the trees and the stars."

.

I wondered if it would help

if I consoled him of his blues,

of the nature of life and death,

how the cycle would include him too.

.

But something held me back,

discretion or intuit,

and I moved on, my mind full of men

who cared, and those who could not.

.

Next I saw him, he was engaged,

in seeing the breeze find its way through the leaves;

I joined him in his silence,

closer, closer for sharing a common grace.

Musings:

I like people who do their own thing. The youngest of the young, the maddest of the mad,  the dreamer in the group who gets ribbed, the one with the wildest theories, the one who always has the last laugh.

I love the ultra sensitive. The one whose heart breaks when she inadvertently steps on a tiny monsoon snail, the one who gets lost on the way to familiar destinations, the one who picks only fallen flowers for prayer, the child who goes into the meadow on the way to school.

These people are made of glass and heart, the strongest fibre and the most breakable material. Because all such people go against the grain, against the accepted, against the norm. And that is what makes them precious and dangerous and endangered. For to be different, is not to be of this firmament, is to think radically, and know the secret rules of flying. Such people are one with another realm. Such people need to be held close and, paradoxically, to be given their space - so they know their genius is not scorned into ash, or hastened into oblivion.

If as people we have to have inspiration, if as civilization we have to have radical minds, if as the human race, we need to figure out the unfathomable, these are the flames which need the cupped hands of all humanity to save them from extinguishment.

Hear the poem:

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If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on being alive to life!

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Poetry often begins in rebellion and ends in grace. It’s softness carries muscles. It redeems the person it ignites.

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