As the end of life approaches, depression often surprises. I was sad a while ago because I had little time to develop myself. The situation feels terrible because I am only now free from many mental issues shackling my creativity.
Then, for some reason, an image of a bird flying to the top of an apple tree and singing about the transience of life popped into my mind. Then, looking at the picture in my mind, I asked if the bird was singing about the end of my life or his own. The thought continued that people won’t write either of us in the annals of history. In the case of the bird, birds don’t know the same things as humans, and for me, my life ended when my mind became whole.
I was comforted by the bird’s fate because its fate is the same as mine but for different reasons. However, what we have in common is that our part is the same as our life. It is still the fate of all living things. It’s not worth mourning. At the end of the thought, I summarized the longer poem:
Existence
Our life
is our
existence.
© Yelling Rosa
2023-07-11
Ekzisto
Nia vivo
estas nia
ekzisto.
© Yelling Rosa
2023-07-11
