Quiet.

Be Still by Barbara Helvey Hughes
 
It is a burden
to be still: quiet ~
to clear my head and
to think of nothing ~
not one single thing.
 
Others do it – stop,
focus, clear their minds
so no troubling thought,
no encumbrance, need,
deadline, worry, fear
enters: sentinels
watch their mindgates and
cast aside all doubts,
all concerns, all pain.
 
But, for me, there seems
to be a constant
event, meeting, plan
taking root most of
the time and I just
can’t corral the thoughts,
the ideas, the
word pairings; perhaps
I don’t really try.
 
Yes, I’ve known others
with this affliction.
(They are some of my
favourite people.)
(In the whole wide world.)
Is this why I love
books, art and music:
why notes and words and
colours fill my mind
and rest there, happy?
 
This restless nature
I share with many
others is like a
constant knocking at
my mind’s door ~ rap, rap.
Do I imagine
breath stalking the tip
of my nose? Is that
called meditation?
Bound to our battles?
We must surely be.