IGNORANCE, THE FOLLY OF WISDOM

Poetry

[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED]

BY RUI CARLOS DA CUNHA

I was born in Bombay, at least that's what they say, my alleged parents.

Was I really their child, or born to another mother, maybe my aunt?

As I have no way of proving allegations such as these, I keep mum.

Seriously, crazy people make waves in calm waters as peace bugs them.

But was my aunt crazy with schizophrenia as my mother told me?

One day the truth will out, I may be dead by then, so it matters to none.

Really, I could have been born inside a dumpster in Lower Manhattan.

Nothing makes it better, not growing up at home among my own people.

In questioning the truth, what was given as facts keeps me from knowing truth?

Nothing seems to make sense, am I trying to make waves to get attention?

Bombay is far away, so very far away. I have never been home.

One day I will return to my homeland but home is in California.

Maybe I can accept that I was born abroad but abroad was not then.

Bombay is nothing but a big city to me, a weigh station for souls.

As I was three months old when we left India, I have no memories.

Yet, I do remember living in Kew Gardens and then Huntington Beach.

All time is meaningless within this solitude that I can't share with you.

Though I think you may feel out of sorts as I do but fixed in your domain.

Let me just say I know what it means to feel love and to question that love.

Even if Augustine could not describe what time was inside his own mind

A facet of the truth of being a human is not knowing the truth.

Speaking and describing what is within his mind as he understands time

Treats the matter as facts with no frame of context, no sense of perspective.

Time is a conundrum as we live within time and time creates being.

How everything becomes extended over time is because we create

Aspects of tense and place through our use of language but language can't describe

Time if we don't perceive it as phenomena, as sensations of thought.

Snow is a thought-object we can describe from sense-perceptions of the mind.

What I feel is missing from life is transparent, like time I cannot grasp.

How I thrash in water and make waves mindlessly, a blind man tries to breathe

As if he were being held down under water, struggling from drowning.

The same blind man can't see the future unfolding around the next corner.

They say my mother is who she is, my mother, no one else is my mom.

How and why did I feel so far removed from them, my parents, my brother?

Everybody who drinks alcohol understands it affects consciousness.

Yet, they cannot explain why families fall apart from alcoholism.

Since I was an infant, there has been alcohol and its consequences.

As a child, I could not understand the distance I felt from my parents.

Yet, life in paradise, Southern California, was anything but bliss.

My experiences set me apart from them as I could think and feel

Yet, I could not reflect on what I could not know, the transparent waters.

Allegedly, my mind conceives reality differently than others.

Liquid are the waters of time, we swim as fish in a transparent pool.

Life within a fishbowl or an aquarium is truly limited.

Every child senses time as a flowing upstream, whether we live up to

Given challenges, swim as salmon upstream, we succeed or fail in truth.

Every adult looks back knowing they acted well or failed to act right then.

Deliberately, time and again, I ruined life as a child from the start.

Parents who can't parent, pretend behind closed doors in their authority.

As parents do their best, some children learn to thrive, learn to love all of life.

Relationships tatter into threads of a rope once held together well.

Even if I destroyed my family relations early on as a child

Not knowing the future, feeling too much distress to think clearly, to plan

Time out in installments as in compound interest, not a compound fracture,

Still, I discover truth swimming upstream, salmon spawn but I've come to thrive.