The Inquiring Boricua

A wall in me.

There is a runner in the hills Stepping on her barefeet Touching the bare soil Leafs lifted up By the sheer momentum Of her springing feet And in her wake Leafs are left Waving down softly Like fathers There is a runner in the hills She dodges trees And hops over rocks and stones Her feet splashes on the water surface Of soft riverlets going downstream. The grass hugs her feet But with barely a moment to spare She off again Sprinting off To another destination. Like lightning stone A hazy fox A mirage caught by The corner of your eyes You see the runner in the hills A gust of wind Brushes your hair You exclaim What a nice day To take a walk On these hills. And off she goes Without your knowing She wonders The runner in the hills Elusive will remain.

Letting go of thing that no longer serve you, it might be things you had with you all your life, things that you grew up with, that you identity with That you use to enjoy But now you find yourself Struggling to find the initial enjoyment Bye bye old days Bye bye me Idetification Mind product You are not me Not really

Just a little above your head Look sideway A stairs stand in your way Move forward and climb Its steep steps Find a path in the narrow line Of walkable floor Enjoy the view you are above the roofs That sorround you The sky is clear The wind is brigt Dancing on your skin The balcony What comfort can it bring.

To live here In absolution No wondering Toward the edges Focus on the breath Oh the music never stops What joy To withhold the trust I have for you now Me that believes in me.

In haste we delude ourselves Into thinking we finally found love Only to be hurt again Don't trust your mind in these matters Wait and wait And love will come when it comes But meanwhile you can love yourself So the love of another will more likely Fall into you

Freedom is not happiness Happiness is not freedom Attached to this idea And both will elude you Happiness comes and go And freedom is to let it come and go. In peace And so it is.

Bemuse to it's content Unknow to it's recipient Feeling adrift Open a gate Find withing What words represent Beyong their conventionalize behest Stripped away No more You know in your heart What it is I talk about.

And I'll write you a poem For this anew Hold a drift In the contents of your soul Find meaning beyond The tangible That grew Intitutionalize With you At it's behest.

Holds a wall To it's purpose Contents withing Precious they are To the lord beholding Of threats without

The warmth is here Outside is cold Like winter passing June In autumn oaks

Old demons of the past You will pass Like wind flowing through trees Rattling your worries As i enjoy the tune That tickles my skin

The melting pot is life You either pour yourself to her Or withdraw withing To the depth of you Without friend or foe You are alone There is a melting pot Giving you her colors "Come on in child" These whispers Afraid you are These shells are protective Defensive And abusive of their contents Swimming in her current But rejecting her The dams are everywhere In attempt to control The untame wilderness Inside of us Around us Encircling us It's only chaos To their eyes.

And they go off to wander Looking under rocks And in the summits of great mountains Ahead, Ahead In distant destinations You tell yourself "The answer lies there" I tell you child If only you would stay still Will your wandering stop. In reconsolidation With The Home Inside.