His Face Was of God

I wonder what measures truth, tales,
and everything in between.
The sounds have arrived,
their wings secretively remembering the wind.
Lots of them danced in a fancy game,
yet few has a truthful name.
A name that shivers in truth,
resilient, honest, and quietly joyful.

A name with words that stare you back.

For I look everyone right in the eye.
That is fine to me.

I have slowly reclaimed this island.
Its forest bursts in fog and rain.
It grows and laughs.
Oh my dear forest, my land, a dream that dreams.
Purify this existence.
Together with me let’s flow like electricity
all the way to a destination called my soul.
Let’s cut through the void of my own mind,
and lovingly observe thoughts lovingly dissolve.

I imagined I am no longer under the reign of words.
For the first time I breathed. Oh my.
I hugged myself, like an Indian who,
finally met the ancestor that named her centuries ago.
His face is of God.

It has been a magnificent journey
Stories slowly start to form landscape in a different way.
In a different way,
words and symbols collapse to give a pathway.

A pathway that defies descriptions.
A pathway that swims
Like electricity, towards my soul, a heaven on earth.