The Skirt
Dancing among flowers
I stoop to touch the mud
To taste its divine.
Blossoms flirt, smile unseen
Choking on thorns each
Jostle, bustle, hustle, rustle.
Such cataracts my eyes
My tired mind.
Pity.
I bow and pet them blooms
Politely faraway
Telling lies white
Fake smiles all.
Finally, at last
I settle down on swamp.
Proudly hideous
Undercover beautiful.
I ask of its thinkings
It sings my song
We create new stories.
Much we've discovered
Yet there's still more.
Much we've seen
And so we soar.
Much we've tried
But the world's all gore.
I thank it for its beauty.
I leave.
I do not wipe my bottom.
The mud runs down my trousers,
Forming a brown skirt of awareness and wonder.
©Rachel Tan, 20 Nov 2018.
Insta: @singingstories35
https://www.instagram.com/singingstories35/
2018-12-04 00:52:49
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