Years have I longed to get to a conclusion
what the Buddha endeavored to inculcate;
the self doesn’t exist… the self it is only an illusion.
Part of me seems so the same and stagnate.
Is myself as a child someone that is no longer here?
Or am I like the rings on a tree -
Child, adult outwards this remains to me so unclear.
Of all things can I not explain the familiarity of me?
Break this out from the conceptual frame
My quest goes on several years or so
same and different what attaches to my name?
What if the answer is neither “Yes” or “No”
whether the me as a kid and adult are same?
It is clear I cannot be identical,
completely different would be an equally wrong claim.
The reality of myself is far more extendible
as I and this child inter-are
what a wonderful discovery to make!
Each different me interweaving and taking turns to be the star.
Living without him would cause such an unbearable ache.
The page turns on this early morn
as one goes to the next.
With each sheet a new idea is born
leafing through the many chapters of text.
For a brief couple of minutes
one student may share what they read
though the talking kept within limits
a pared down update on what the book said.
I would occasionally glance away from my book,
to the one over my neighbor’s shoulder.
What world could I explore if I took a look
to talk to that literature’s holder?
What ideas have perhaps planted a seed
between his brief moments of talking to me?
He turns to ask – “for the last thirty minutes what did I read?”
The distractions of group settings are not always key.
My last year in a classroom full of tweens
all which are eleven and twelve
(except my age still hidden behind the scenes.)
April Fourth, this topic, we are going to delve.
My birthday month rolls around
“Happy Twelfth!” I hear… but I need to come clean
No not really I expound
I just now turned thirteen.
What! That is not possible! How?
If you are born in eighty-one
and it is obviously ninety-three now
that is twelve rotations around the sun.
Harry, some boys need one more revolution trip
so after quite some time he starts to come around
“Well okay… Teenage Mutant Ninja Kip”
as he so gradually relents his interrogation hound.
The kid most of us boys would admire —
slick style in a band and class president.
Seems his best years many might inquire?
Wouldn’t be now days by the outward precedent.
On socials he said the 2020s is the best decade of life,
Less care placed currently on what others think;
I do as I please. Such astounding lack of strife…
too much time spent on nonsense I’ll often sink.
