Karma Sutra

by abubhaji

Kids carrying guitars in the park,
Under BART rail, toward mini-embarcadero;
their backpacks dreamful of finding themselves, find us instead,
and woe to them that want us to stop and listen to their screams,
for validation.
Unsuspecting are we, are they, like deer grazing roadside along Mission
Boulevard, anti-domesticated, pseudo-wild, seemingly unphased by the
cacophony within earshot, continuing
their chore; mouths full of weed and dandelion root.
Youth strumming karmic chords in the park;
their music lifting, unfamiliar, breaths down-loadable, as we approach their herd. When did our
 harmonies stop roaming so free? So laced with revolution- streaming… [Why are we not
screaming too?] [What have the years taken from us that we cannot
take back?] Here, our past lives much more alive than we, much more in-tuned; they
sit and they play and they recite the angst we’ve channeled and they’ve received, before us, on a park-
bench; their song bringing down the amber sky upon us-
Perhaps the sky is not truly falling- Perhaps, I am merely practicing the melodrama of my past life once
more, reconnecting with my former-self, the one perched before me; dirty hair, new Docs, looking up
at the future that put him there.