Psithurism A Language I Yearn to Understand

Psithurism - A Language I Yearn to Understand poem on blotted papers by Kaaya Faye

I wander around in my flip-flops

Wondering about the world

And myself

As I pass by people and places.


Wondering what was all of this

In the era of black and white.

Trying to Google it

Him, then and now

City, then and now.


I watch TV

Debates are everywhere

Switching from the religious to scientific

From historical to intellectual

I wonder whether either side is right.


I pick a book

Reading through its pages

Of what was and how

Who was and why

I wonder if anyone really knows anything.


I close the book

Pushing it in a drawer cabinet

I walk out of the room

Out of the house

Into the park with all the wilderness.


I look at the kids playing

The parents protecting kids from getting hurt

Aged, trying to stretch

Without getting a nerve pull

In the pursuit of healthy life.


I saunter among them

And soon diverge towards the empty area

Full of flowers and space

Where I am alone

With the trees.


Their old branches almost look wise

Shedding leaves and growing fruits

They seem to be the old vendor

Serving generations after generations

Smiling with gentle gestures.


Only mute

Thankfully so.

God knows what they would tell!

History like never known before

People and places in different light.


World War I and World War II

The elopements and the conspiracies

Hidden secrets of our neighbors

Brutal side of reality

The one we all will refuse to believe.


What if they tell stories

About a world

With no Jesus

With no Krishna

Only humans, politicians, magicians…


What if they narrate

About the times when water spoke

Science was everyone’s, like language is?

That everyone talked about a different future

And we all have let our ancestors down?


What if the tree that sees me

Everyday sitting on a bench

Wondering vaguely at vague possibilities

Remembers what my great-great-great-great grandfather said

About me and I am nothing like that?


Looking at the tree

I feel the tree looking back at me

With stories from yesterdays

Smiling patiently

Observing the world around it unfold

In ways that was never presume.


It has seen worlds after worlds

Knows our best times and the worst

God knows what they would have said

Maybe that is why they chose not to speak

But, the leaves rustle.

They know we don’t understand.

What do you think?

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