If I Were a Drone

 

I would zoom across the Bering Strait

to the North Pole.

Hear the ho ho ho

echo in the glacier,
stirring up the dusty snow.
 

Down to the south,

gang up zillions of sand

in the river Ganges.

 

To the west,

I’d trace William Blake’s

“Infinity in the palm.”
 

Buzzing every corner,

I’d scrutinize the imposters over Kilpling’s land.

 

Bustling the green and red light,

I’d reflect on the meaning of labor and wait.

 

And beyond a myriad of eyes,

I’d see through the seen and unseen.
 

Gazing at each soul meditating in the park.

How to “go into your words,”

“let life happen to you.”

I will ask Rilke.

 

Or listen to Gibran,

how to let go of anxiety, depression…

do not predict or want to control the future.

That is what Prophet does,

not us.

 

It all comes back to the memory lane.

Clicking clock, walking two legs,

spread your wings in Rumi’s sky.