deepundergroundpoetry.com
Unsullied
Yesterday.
I watched an infant seeing an overhead fan for the first time.
I could feel his innocence.
His amazement.
His observation without bias.
A consciousness but not yet a mind.
Devoid of conditioning.
Uncluttered, unfettered, un everything.
Joy without thought.
And I wondered.
Where did my wonder go?
My awe go?
Oh there it is.
In the Birdsong.
In the sound in a conch.
In the trees,the sky,the grasshopper.
It never left.
Just got covered by adulthood.
I watched an infant seeing an overhead fan for the first time.
I could feel his innocence.
His amazement.
His observation without bias.
A consciousness but not yet a mind.
Devoid of conditioning.
Uncluttered, unfettered, un everything.
Joy without thought.
And I wondered.
Where did my wonder go?
My awe go?
Oh there it is.
In the Birdsong.
In the sound in a conch.
In the trees,the sky,the grasshopper.
It never left.
Just got covered by adulthood.
Published 29th Dec 2024
Author's Note
Adults are sullied.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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