Rebirth

Wise men say that life is a cycle of rebirths,
even black holes must gather lights
to give birth to the sun again.
So I say to mother nature:
In my rebirth abort my mind
and plant me as a seed in a distant forest
so that I may grow into a mindless fig tree
with thoughtlessness that’s unable
to ponder the burdens of life.
For the mind is a scale that weighs the burdens of life
but of all the things in nature,
the trees are the most burden-free,
living seven times longer in the stillness of being
than mankind in the chasing of dreams.
Though I would be rooted in stillness,
mother nature would serve my every need,
summoning the clouds to be cupbearers to my thirst
and the rays of the sun to serve my daily meal.
my branches would host an orchestra of hummingbirds
to serenade my being, while I waltz slowly with the wind,
under the northern lights — living life carefree.
But when mother nature shouts “timber,”
in grace, I would rest in peace,
knowing that when I blossom again in the next life,
I would bear fruits — karma free.
For I would’ve lived life in stillness
as a mindless fig tree.


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