I AM EVERYTHING THAT EVER ONCE WAS
Atop my grandfather’s buried head
grows a banyan tree,
once a sapling, basking in the morning sun after some loving hands allowed its roots to touch soil.
I am nine, and I turn back to watch it.
I don’t understand death yet, or maybe I understand it more than I ever will.
My old biology teacher, amid one of his lengthy tales, tells us that within our bodies are bits of stardust formed by nuclear fusion,
Hydrogen, helium, carbon
During the funeral, we see,
facing a nearby gravestone: a skull, a real human skull. This was once a person. They managed to escape the dirt,
and their head is no longer whole.
I am nine and this fascinates and unnerves me. My sister and I watch.
The banyan tree is my grandfather, and his friends live amongst him.
He is his body’s decay, and his memory lives in the littered cigarettes in grandma’s backyard.
His habits live with his children, and to his youngest grandchild, he leaves his nose, his mannerisms, his compassion.
There is stardust within him,
branching out to us.
Diksha Kumar, 17, somewhere in the world ✯ substack.com/@sneakysneaker06 ✯ BACK TO POETRY: OUROBOROS
“I am a university student soon to major in electrical engineering, but I've always had a passion for literature, poetry, and art in general. I am naturally someone who is constantly pouring with empathy, and that lets me love and enjoy art. I am forever grateful. xx”