Feb 27, 2019 Original Poetry
Ghost
©February 27th, 2019
By Vijaya Sundaram
I walk among you, and through you
And you don’t see, don’t hear, don’t speak to,
Me.
I, who lived and died four billion times,
Over and over, wafting through space and stars,
Through cosmic dust and darkness,
Through oxygen and nitrogen, and carbon,
(Oh, so much carbon, you would suffocate
And turn black as coal, if only you knew),
Through rivers, and oceans, and volcanoes,
Through clouds and burning sky,
Through ice and snow, and desert air,
Through sedimentary rock and volcanic ash,
Through, and in, the feet of therapods,
And duck-billed dinosaurs,
Travelling like specks of pollen on the wings of bees,
I, who wept with those who were killed,
And with those who killed,
I, who fear death, and have died over and over,
I, who am always alive, and who always rejoice
When I draw a breath, (Oh the miracle of it!),
I am alone, here, and you don’t see me.
I turn to you, surrounded by wings of loneliness,
And ask, “Are you there? Can you see me?”
And you walk on, eyes fixed on a point
I cannot see, because my gaze is on you.
You will not see me, until you fade,
And lost your breath, and vanish,
Until you become someone else –
Me.
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