4670 miles along the coast
I have meticulously packed,
camera and microphones
cables, cards and chords.
I am leaving behind a few things,
randomization of worries and distractions
that yield just black frames
that add nothing to the film on life.
‘Black’ in timeline is necessary though
at the start and at the end,
similar to zero at birth
and zero at death.
But in between, black is just black,
and my love for colours
has me pleading the universe
to grant me tetrachromacy.
I have swaddled in my heart
warmth of a bird’s plumage
and nature’s love for itself.
I am not a banyan tree anymore, fixed and rigid
I am a mangrove tree
leaving behind roots of the past,
constantly growing new roots,
reaching from A to B, B to C
from old patterns to new oddity.
Metta. An RHCP favourite for you.