Transformation-a poem

Transformation

I was again

crawling down

into the mud,

opening yet another wound

in the wrinkled, earthen body.

Once again

I burrowed deeply,

Devouring the memories,

Releasing the toxins.

How ordinary, lowly, disenchanting!

How un-heroic, run-of-the-mill:

my life.

How silly to dream of

blossoms in the wind

and succulent clouds

while stuck to the bottom of the sludge

My heart took insult

drumming madly,

so feverishly that for a second

I did not feel the rest of my body

warble into madness.

Trembling frantically, I broke down.

I became chaos.

One by one my old cells died.

I was terrified.

But in the midst of my panic

I became strangely calm.

Then I felt elated.

I enthusiastically released my old self.

I made it easy on death

to devour every inch of mud clinging to my being.

I was humming a hymn to my death.

Humming a high-pitch song.

A dream of wings and blossoms.

A dream of rainbow colors

and eyes that flew into the light.

A dream of changing winds

and pollination.

I became imaginal

while my old self became mush.

I had often imagined flying to be hard.

I had sometimes imagined it easy.

But I had not imagined flying to be now,

Now, as my wings unfold,

Now as I take to the wind.

Now, as I drink from the flower

On which I once crawled.

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By Maria Mar

Maria Mar©May 21, 2012

New York

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