Banyan Thorns - Burial Hymn For The Self

I wrote my name in charcoal, And buried it in the soil, With lavender, myrrh, and rosemary, I gave my ghost to hollow ground. Place the stones into a spiral, Mark the epitaph of me, I buried who I wasn’t, To become who I am. I laid my shadow in the ground, Its weight too heavy to remain. The roots reached out and wrapped it tight, They drank its sorrow, drank its pain. Now blossoms rise where shadow slept, And fruit is heavy on the bough. I buried what could never bloom, To walk in who I am now. The worms will carry silence, The moss will hold my grief. The river swallows sorrow, The oak becomes belief. With hands of loam I gathered, With breath of rot I sang, I buried who I wasn’t, To become who I am. Stone upon stone, Lanterns in a circle, Each one a name That no longer binds me. The earth remembers every footstep, The rot remembers the embers of life, The blossom remembers the seed, The compost remembers the touch of decay. I walked away unburdened, The soil spoke back to me: “Child, you are no longer broken, Rise in the shape of the banyan tree.” With hands of loam I gathered, With breath of rot I sang, I buried who I wasn’t… To become who I am.