There are times

There are times

I don’t know where I’m going,

I feel like I’m stagnating.

But scientifically speaking,

I know that I’m growing,

The boy is maturating.

But I feel trapped in something;

A prism more than a prison,

Faulty thinking

Rather than chains clinking,

And I know when you look at me

You see my privilege,

When you listen to my voice

You hear a vantage,

A point different to the streets

I never had to survive,

Privately educated;

On the right side

Of the segregated.

But under the skin

There’s a suffering soul,

A yearning to know myself,

To resolve this schism.

Is my nature existential?

Why are my moods so elemental?

Is this poem too rudimental?

The mountain handed me a gift

When I climbed after I fell

And died so I could be reborn,

Reinvent myself beyond heredity,

Discover what was always lacking:

My very own philosophy;

A code to live by;

Something more fundamental.

It all starts with doubt,

A sense that Something’s missing;

Curiosity, I don’t have the answer,

None of us do,

It eludes you... Simplicity...

And just Like the dance doesn’t belong to the dancer

Truth doesn’t belong to the seeker

So I seek, self-educate, study,

Growing wise

as my complexion grows ruddy,

Zooming in on myself

Along the way,

Taking inspiration

From what wiser people say:

Gramsci: optimism is will,

Darwin: things evolve still,

Plato: you can leave the cave,

Dr Thompson: wealth is usually depraved;

Gandhi turned the other cheek,

And Buddha went forth to seek,

And the Beatles broke America,

And for Lennon did America weep.

There’s stillness in the entropy.

Find the sound in the silence

And see if you can hear it:

Poetry,