Family tree
covered in blood-y Arora's and Khubchandani's
There is something in me
that is wild.
A free spirit.
Not unlike the gentle peace
of a horse grazing on green fields;
maybe more like the enchanting Aroras*
A crooked nose
and a daringness to never dream was passed down to me
But I sift through the d n a sewn tapestries and
sieve between all the prophesized possibilities…
and I land in the blooming fields of Khubchandani*
When I feel this kind of wild
I feel like the sun-beads rolling down grass hills
and floating upstream
A land that takes such good care of itself that is beckons the bees
and hopes all the humans leave…
Snakebites don’t even rattle me
the way city folk ignite fire in me
Shakin me down to my boots
that the only place I am able to run
are the gum trees
And even though the wind breaks their branches
and shakes off all of their leaves
they still cannot live without
the blowing songs of the breeze
It is in that truth that I must be honest with you
and with me
I must learn how to stand tall like a
big beautiful tree
I have much to carry with me
like Pabi Dawaandi…
Because there is yet a legacy to be carried
yet to realise I am the bloody legacy
that I am the bloody family tree.