Alive

By: Humayra Noor

 

What is the point—

If not to let the bugs of joy crawl

And cover your skin? To let the body loose

When the tingling of their legs

Marches up and down your spine?

To feel your feet barely touch the ground,

to let yourself fly?

 

To drop into flowers

When you smell them,

When you breathe them

So thoroughly that you consume

In the nectars of love and joy.

 

Do you really live,

If you don’t let the

blue, stingy, bubbly waves

Touch your dry feet.

Do you let your soul get wet?

Do you listen to the way the world speaks?

The trees whistle, birds sing, and oceans rage.

 

Do you let the real world consume you?

Do you let yourself live?