Height of Arrows

Arthur's Seat, 2015

here the paths are not carved by trees

but by rocks that build walls:

strongholds of neatness and courage

surrounding this fresh city.

I watch the meager movements

of people swarming around like ants

constructing immaculate nests,

running in all directions to find themselves again.

from up here, it all seems so frivolous.

no frontiers to hold back the wind

or the earth growing. No hands to pluck

the flowers and stifle them in plastic cups on a windowsill.

the air is different. Each breath

dissolves inside my blood, brushing off the remains

of this winter. The sun is bold, melting the venomed ice

still stuck between the crannies of my body.

no words need to be spoken,

this place knows nothing of language or of thoughts.

It just is.

untamed and unmethodical.

I am not here seeking an escape,

but the palpable metamorphosis offered

by this wind so forceful that it moulds my body

into something new. I am never back the same.

this silent witness observing us grapple with our lives

shelters a city of narrow stone alleys,

full of colour and chances.

I am not frightened here.

my back is shadowed by this miraculous beauty,

its honesty and realness unpeel the mask that stuck to my face for years.

here I fell in love with simplicity. here I learnt to be careless

and carefree.