Page 19 - My Creative Writing Portfolio

19

ORIGINS

I am a stone from the mountain,
rolling downward, passing through
bushes and thorns,
rivers, forests, trees, and grasses—
bruised, muddied, chiselled,
hardened by constant rubbing,
until I rested briefly
in a valley.

I became a pebble in a river,
always rolling, always moving,
rarely still.
For a moment, I paused
in a village with hardworking people
and there,
I was born.

I am from the land
where people struggled to feed themselves,
mixing their bodies with soil and water,
draining sweat to irrigate their fields.
I am from that land.

I am from the land
where poinsettias lined farm fences,
silent for many months,
then bursting into red in autumn,
contrasting with snow-white mountains behind,
adorning the village.
I am from that land.

I think I carry
poinsettias and mountains within me.
Remembering this,
My mind travels millions of years back—
for the mind can race
faster than anything in the world.
Once, the mountains and poinsettias
were my brothers and sisters.
I am in them,
and they are in me.
Perhaps that is why
I flow with them still.

I do not know
why I was born in this land.
Was it karma—
a drop released as rain?