Caught in a child’s hand,
the seashell becomes treasure,
a catalyst of daydreams. Tunes
hummed by innocence reach
the seagull nearby who gives up
flight to breathe in this fresh air.
An air that only they can bare,
that we forget through years
of aging hearts.
The sand still has memory of us,
although we forget. And that starfish
under the stars waits our return,
but we turn. Away from the past
that gave us sight into a spark
of the divine. To see creation
in it’s purest form, it’s brightest shine.
Each grain of sand will be called to
tell his story. Can you imagine?
When from the seen and unseen
Worlds come Men and Jinn.
And to be asked from such an old age,
why we could not stay like a child.
For a moment to see like a child.
To dream like a child.
To take into our heart,
the Heart of the world,
as a child does,
with every blink of existence.
By Jon Schuck