You said, with tears in your eyes,
how they told you to let me go
and be the best I can be,
to which you replied,
too late now.
Your eyes spoke of regret
that truth left behind,
for moments lost
to what you thought
was known.
I wonder, how some truths
seem to skip heads
and manifest only
in every odd number,
as if forming the rhythm
of a beating heart,
instead of a dead straight line
where all is known
and works out.
I wonder, how the roles of
children and parents
blend and intertwine,
not being bound to age
or origin of flesh,
but to subtleties that build
each person the same.
Parent and child,
Giver and receiver of knowledge;
The two acts we took as definite,
not realising how it isn’t a one-way
relation, from one person to another,
rather attributes assigned
to individual parts
everyone owns.
Each one, then, built
of many heads that are
here either to teach
or be taught something.
All simultaneously
students and teachers,
oscillating between the two
as daily currents change.
Do we gain more understanding
by claiming knowledge
as some asset we own,
or by softening the rigid walls
of what we think is
until reality melts
in front of our eyes
into something we can’t tame,
only be enraptured by?
In a world that forces to know,
to conquer the sky
before beginning
to understand what you are,
how liberating is it to say,
“I do not know.”
