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Self - NATASHA ZAMAN

Self

The willful child plays a game of 
hide and seek  

— on the edges of my collarbone it tiptoes;
on the fragility of my skeleton it tickles;
on the tenderness of my heart it nibbles.

On the lucky occasion it rests, 
I breathe and, I’m 

Peaceful.

Sometimes it sneaks into this sanctuary where 
— unlike itself — there is an order; 

It guides the trajectory of thoughts,
and gives them the power of certainty
the same one a rock has
even when its carelessly thrown;

The child laughs and whispers, How foolish you are,
to believe you are more than You.
you are merely a tool masters use.
you, they use to protect something

Precious. 

And with its silly pride, the babe crawls, 
to its mother’s flesh,
And once again I choke —

On Myself.

2 Comments

  1. Love the poem. It’s deep and thoughtful. Such a joy to read

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