To Be Borne - Maria Cieslarczyk
Is it not strange that we don’t remember our first breath of air,
When we parted our lips to gasp this world in?
New, baby eyes adjusting to the life around us; back then, impossible to care.
To be borne of this world is a revolution we don’t realize.
When all we could focus on was surviving - howling for life.
Cut the tether from our homes in the womb, thrust into a dark world.
We take it all in, pomegranate dripping from the doctor’s knife.
Lungs inhale the oxygen in, the next step of our lives to be unfurled.
After this day, do we even think much of the privilege it is to be alive?
Go our whole lives growing, shape-shifting, changing; losing fascination in simple breathing.
To be borne of this world is a revolution most of us don’t realize.
Years spent for school, jobs, greens; we don’t feel the emancipation of our souls’ desires teething.
To exist, even at all, in a freckle of time in Mother Nature’s galaxy,
Before the bread of our bodies burn and we become stars above.
To have the mundane magic of making a mark in our universe’s majesty
To have our lungs mindlessly expanding, the slavery our soul has for bodily love.
One day, we will all come to a time where our spirits will reign free,
Perhaps surrounded, in a hospital bed, sunlight peeking in from the embers of the dawn’s break.
When this moment comes, I do not want my quick and mortal life to disappoint me.
Rather, I want to smile at my journey, from my first day alive to the memories I vowed to make.
We are simply just wandering visitors of this ruined yet worthwhile earth.
One day we’re born, the next we die. Oh, how this life is a gift that goes by fast!
But it’s not too late. We are reborn each day to fulfill the fires of our soul’s hearth.
How strange we don’t remember our first breath of air, but we remember our last.
When we parted our lips to gasp this world in?
New, baby eyes adjusting to the life around us; back then, impossible to care.
To be borne of this world is a revolution we don’t realize.
When all we could focus on was surviving - howling for life.
Cut the tether from our homes in the womb, thrust into a dark world.
We take it all in, pomegranate dripping from the doctor’s knife.
Lungs inhale the oxygen in, the next step of our lives to be unfurled.
After this day, do we even think much of the privilege it is to be alive?
Go our whole lives growing, shape-shifting, changing; losing fascination in simple breathing.
To be borne of this world is a revolution most of us don’t realize.
Years spent for school, jobs, greens; we don’t feel the emancipation of our souls’ desires teething.
To exist, even at all, in a freckle of time in Mother Nature’s galaxy,
Before the bread of our bodies burn and we become stars above.
To have the mundane magic of making a mark in our universe’s majesty
To have our lungs mindlessly expanding, the slavery our soul has for bodily love.
One day, we will all come to a time where our spirits will reign free,
Perhaps surrounded, in a hospital bed, sunlight peeking in from the embers of the dawn’s break.
When this moment comes, I do not want my quick and mortal life to disappoint me.
Rather, I want to smile at my journey, from my first day alive to the memories I vowed to make.
We are simply just wandering visitors of this ruined yet worthwhile earth.
One day we’re born, the next we die. Oh, how this life is a gift that goes by fast!
But it’s not too late. We are reborn each day to fulfill the fires of our soul’s hearth.
How strange we don’t remember our first breath of air, but we remember our last.