Thirteen

(for Anja Eli­za­beth Alden, my daughter)

 
Thirteen
 
 
I
Having clim­bed the moun­tain of my childhood
Here I stand. On top. Taking a deep bre­ath and taking in.

II
Now spread your arms and look up and just listen:
Pro­found silence – plus sin­ging of birds and wind in trees.

III
Turn around now – how on earth did we get here?
Whose hands gui­ded us, held us all the way?

IV
Whose soothing voices
Coa­ched and com­for­ted us? Think about it.

V
These hands bet­ter let go now,
These voi­ces bet­ter calm down for a while.

VI
While we get more and more in charge
Of our­sel­ves, of our bodies, our minds.

VII
Or at least be quiet when we try to think and think
We know it all.

VIII
Can it get any bet­ter than this? More arti­cu­late perhaps?
Can it get any fun­nier than this? Oh please!

IX
This life is mine to share, my voice speaks clearer
By the day, my body pulls me right in place.

X
Trust me – what lies in front of you, is
Not the Pro­mi­sed Land.

XI
Not the Pro­mi­sed land, it will
Open its arms for you – yes, you may enter.

XII
This not pro­mi­sed land just might hold
Tre­a­su­res in abun­dance and often­ti­mes overw­helm you.

XIII
So, let’s just chill here for a bit and be fearless,
Bre­a­thing a dee­per love – fee­ling com­ple­tely free.
 

Antony Oomen
25.IX/2010
Amsterdam