Animal Instinct

Somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, a leaf is shaking. A small wind blows, and the leaf is shaking. Its quivering dance is reminiscent of a small child shivering: a naked child trying to shield itself from the blizzard of hail and cold rain. The world is a cruel place; and these are difficult times. Somewhere close, a soft breeze blows, and a leaf is shaking.

I am bent over and I stare at the murky reflection in the glassy surface that stares back at me. I am staring at me who is staring at me staring at me. It is a detached feeling and I do not understand it. My hair falls to cover my face. Beside me there is a willow tree, and it is weeping. Its branches droop and its cascading foliage is dripping tears. I close my eyes and they are dripping tears. I am weeping and I do not understand it.

I become the music; I become the silence. I am the darting silver fish in the river water; the buzzing fly that alights on a bloody carcass. I am the single dried blade of grass in the desert; the rock over which waters flow. I am the cuckoo in the bird’s nest; but also its broken shell. I am the tiny vine clinging to the overhanging cliff; I am the dirt that is kicked over it. I am the peacock whose brilliant feathers have been plucked out slowly one by one to the excruciating sound of bones and blood and sinew being crushed under the knuckles of Man. I am the sandstorm; but I am also the pathetic debris that it leaves in its wake. I am the antelope whose legs have been broken; the gazelle whose parched throat makes her die in hunger. I am the proud lion who stands and roars on the horizon only to be shot dead moments later. I am the butterfly; I am also the beast. I am the white tiger who must hide; the black panther who glides over the forest floor in the dead of the night. I am the forgotten pebble that lies buried beneath a mound of dead soil; I am the clot of congealed blood that becomes the cancer that is destroying my own brain. I am the quick tongue of the lizard that darts in and out of its mouth in the span of a millisecond; but also its heavy tail that thumps the ground to an unknown beat. I am the hiss of the wind blowing across the desolate sands of time; the terrible earthquake that reduces life to little more than rubble. I am the crack in the palm of earth; but I am also the gentle trickle of rain that heals it. I am alive, but I am dying.

The whole world is silent, and praying. Somewhere, a soft wind blows, and a leaf is shaking.