Learning to Evolve
©April 16th, 2019
By Vijaya Sundaram
You drown again, then emerge,
Delphinine, into the air,
Twisting and turning,
And sleep eludes you, you think,
But you dream, and dream, and dream,
Until the waking is a dream of waking,
And the dreaming a dream of waking.
And you walk on water, towards a distant shore
Where sylphs gather in the air, and dryads
Behind trees, and salamanders dancing
In flames that do not scorch, cool fire!
And they await you, Undine,
As you come closer, closer.
You reject the world of waking.
It is dull, plastic, a mere imitation,
Where you’ve loved, and lost,
And regained everything and everyone
A hundred times over.
You laugh, as the waves part beneath your
Extremities, which you cannot see,
Because you never look down, just up,
Just around, because there’s so much to see,
But, as you approach land,
The droplets flying off your slick, silken skin,
You wonder, briefly, about the element
From which you came, and,
Fighting the impulse not to do so,
You look down.
Below, you see all the faces of all
Whom you left behind, all who loved you,
Or were indifferent to you, or hated you,
Or whom you didn’t even know,
And even as you catch their startled
Fearful faces gazing up at you
Emerging from their world,
Poised to escape, to desert them,
The waters start rising upwards,
Until you find yourself sinking, sinking.
Waving to the dryads, the sylphs,
The salamanders, you let out a loud
Gasp, before you drown,
Once again in the world beneath.
Awake now, you find yourself
In the clutch of dry land,
Dry as hate, dry as death.
And you suck in a lungful
And learn to evolve.
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