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  • Roxanne Noor


Updated: Apr 5

Impulse is thoughtless

The body is propelled to do

To love, to eat, to fuck

How can I allow myself to be led

By what I don’t know I want

By a trust for animal instinct over logic

By a willingness to snap the pattern by its rigid spine

Structure can create a garden 

Walls of green lace freckled with peonies

Structure can create a cage

Metal pillars and a cold aluminum floor 

Spontaneity is an open field of no nation

Where instinct is pulled by

The Eastern wind

The North star

The Southern cape

Where in this moment a dragonfly perches

On a rock’s turtled head without choice

Unaware of it’s whirling existence 

Where in this moment an upper caste brahman

Looks into the brown eyes of a paravan

And all the rules drop dead

Where in this moment the business man

Stops to speak to the lonely beggar

Spares some change and time 

In the now there’s no script to play

In the now the agenda is scrapped

In the now there’s no rehearsal

Step off the tight rope of should’s

Fall into the warm blooded pulse of the stream

The fine fertile soil of the forest

The snow dusted memory of the mountain

The land that knows more than it calculates 

The people who love despite fear

The risky self that walks off the line

And is better for it

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