Born naked,
No boundaries,
But bonds of
breath and being.
Born naked,
Free, with no borders,
Just curiosity’s flame.
A lighthouse in the fog.
Identity,
Not in this chapter,
Not in this lesson,
A blank canvas,
Awaiting society’s brush.
Meaning and service,
Imagination and tranquility,
Gratitude and exploration,
Yet often traded for
Comfort in conformity.
We teach ours
And theirs,
Presentation and acts,
Masks worn daily,
Truth lost in the act,
Authenticity, a forgotten script.
Who’s watching over us?
We don’t teach faith,
We teach worship of idols.
We don’t teach questions,
We teach answers prepackaged,
Easy to digest,
Hard to escape,
Mental fast food.
We don’t teach thinking,
We teach status,
The climb over others,
A race with no end,
Sisyphus in a suit and tie.
Likes over essence,
Thrills over purpose,
Moments of euphoria,
Digital applause in an empty auditorium.
Who’s watching over us?
Our forgotten selves, perhaps,
Peering through the cracks.
From naked truths
To clothed deceit,
We walk life’s wardrobe,
Trying on identities like costumes,
Forgetting the skin beneath.
Beneath the layers,
The naked child still breathes,
The flame flickering,
Waiting to be fanned.
Who’s watching over us?
The answer lies in the question,
For in asking, we awaken
To the watchers.
Born naked,
We return to nakedness.
Who’s watching over us?
Let it be our truest,
Guardians of the flame,
That burns at our birth.
Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.
