My Ground Truth

Psychologist | Military-Grade Mindfulness Trainer & Coach | Carsten J. Grimm

A Day in April

The smoke of a Great Fire 

Stoked with fat, and glory, talk.

In the cold break of day 

Was a country awash only in grief.

 

Trembling hands was the nation
Desperately searching newspaper columns
For the squandered joy of its pastures.

 

Long since have all been shaking their heads

At the arson of such neglect.

A house fire run amuck 

In a different time and of an ignorance

None now could ever possibly imagine.

 

But in my own time I've trodden mud roads

Past ancient cliff statues and bazaars of silk 

Because the dialect of men today

Still sounds like fire.

I've had conversations in portuguese

With pacific men of long memory 

Beside their villages of smoking palms.

 

Each year, on a day in April, we blow the embers awake

And tell stories to each other 

Don't get too close

To getting dusty ashes on your hands.

We turn our faces to the dawn 

In gratitude of faraway lessons

Content safe in our houses 

Of tindered national thatch. 

 

cjG

#mygroundtruth

Each year, on a day in April, we blow the embers awake... cjG

Each year, on a day in April, we blow the embers awake... cjG