I don’t want to be sovereign,
I want to be entwined,
In the roots of wild forests,
That reveal mysteries,
Of things I cannot see.
I want to walk upon the land,
Learn secrets whispered by ants,
Feel her pulsing rhythm,
Beneath the soles of my bare feet.
I want to be carried by the wind,
Lifted above treetops,
Savouring sweet symphonies of life,
Echoing through rustling leaves.
I want to be steeped in wells of grief,
For the extinction of species,
For the silenced voices of lost languages,
For the lost art of mourning,
Buried in our hurried hearts.
I want to cast my vote for the night sky,
And go blind,
When I can no longer see,
Stars swallowed by looming city lights.
I want to be reminded,
That I am the son of a mountain,
The daughter of an ancient moon,
A descendant of the first breath,
A kin to the bacteria that inhabit my skin.
I want to exist at the threshold of death,
For my tears to return to the earth,
To sink deep into dying soil,
And breathe life into what remains.
I don’t want to be sovereign.
