In the babble of the world
the assault on your senses
ears tuned externally
it’s almost impossible
to hear your own heartbeat

Your own truth
suffocated by
the desires of others
and their ‘truth’
about you
spoken
so loudly

Yet your heart never ceases
silently in your chest
echoing your deepest longing

On pale pink mornings
you should rise with the sun
find a rock
a beach or a tree
close your eyes
as the rays whisper
through the leaves
or dazzle the water

And listen to the story
your heart has waited
for so long to tell you

© Tanya Southey
#52words52weeks

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There are times
I am convinced
parts of my soul
slipped down
to earth to play
hide and seek
with me

This playful
universe
loves a surprise
and waits
hiding
sometimes for years
behind the curtains
giggling like a child
hoping to be found
at the exact moment
that will force you
to believe in
magic and miracles

It fills me with wonder
that in incongruous places
I have found jigsaw pieces
little bits
that have the colours
for the exact picture of
my life at that moment

And there you were
standing
in mundane greyness
no idea that our lives
were intertwined
and that even up until
this point our experiences
had almost been identical
but only years of talking
would reveal the depths
that that moment could not

And now the discovery
that it makes no difference
where we are
you are likely to have just
had the same experiences
meaningful coincidences
we scratch our heads and laugh

Time and distance
mean nothing
in this melting
pot of consciousness
if I am sad
I light a candle for you
as likely you are too
we both see the same sun
love rises
and shows us the way home

Always
© Tanya Southey

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Younger beliefs
that I would
in some magical year
halt and form
develop into
a static person
who had arrived
and then remain
cast in stone

Become

Now I see
that each year
starts in a haze
with a shimmering light
somewhere in the fog
of remembrance
beckoning
a further becoming

A deep summoning
of who I was
preordained to be
before I was shrouded
in the layers
of the should’s
the ought’s
and must’s

Unfurling
shedding
layers of skin
chiselling off
the edges
emerging from
the marble

changing
paradoxically

to become
myself

© Tanya Southey

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