By Nadia Bourne
an open Mind will break
away from the Body when wounded
unfastens easily once deception drives it mad
like a transfigured Luna Moth rapped in silk,
susceptible, it hardens with each blow
until incorrigibly stiff, seemingly
beyond repair
it writhes in fetal position, contortions
to retreat into a cocoon and develops
a tough Shell with built-in lines of weakness
—just enough room for change and chance
once Minds wound they find their will, adapting
their anima to blossom from the inside out,
but commercial flowers merely imitate Life, as
part-time adornments
impersonal personas
an ancillary aesthetic
incapable of bearing the tells of age;
they cannot boast our leaves for they lack
the resilience of our stems, the power of our skin,
our scars
regeneration: a testament in each bruise we brandish
we brave the elements like our mothers before us
always managing to conceive a new generation
I pray this reaches you in time, while you are small:
a callow seed, raw, green stamen, still
suckling and extending blindly in faith
pray you have this read to you in your native tongue
before all other (external) voices drown your sense
of self, your body, in ablution
before it ripens and you forfeit agnostic limbs
prostrating to gravity in homage to a false god
consign your allegiance to self-reverence
ground your roots in the earth
dig deep and stand firmly planted
you cannot look back
if you are looking up
appreciate the nature in all things
let not the artificial stunt your growth
For more, see Pamela Meyer’s How to Spot a Liar: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P_6vDLq64gE