Atman

A companion piece (sort of) to my earlier poem titled Anatta.

In class we mused openly,
talked in concentric circles--
from what point does power grow?
At times it is manifest
within your hands, in my feet,
sewn by way of decision
though we did not create it.
And yet I wonder, why not?
Tabula raza, not I.

When you see fit to gift me
with honeyed words on golden
hips, the dancer is the dance.
I mean to say that we are
more akin to magnets than
timid, striving animals,
and that I react fiercely
when your planet swims into
this yearning, clasping ken.

 

Reviews

[Nay]

The first stanza's tone feels mildly, idly humorous, but then the break between the two... feels like a glance down, and when the gaze lifts in the next instant, there's that certain fire alight. The way the words are set, the energy of the piece swirls rapidly towards its end.

[Poeticpiers]

An intriguing thought stream well presented in poetic prose
Which hints at sensuality