Written 18th September, 2026 entered in The rebel Poetry Contest sponsored by Unseeking Seeker
“Neither desire nor aversion Meditation our immersion Conditioned beliefs discarded Hymns we hum are our own version” After rain, the burnt paddock smells of iron. Rusted wire hums along the boundary, teaching the grass its old obedience. All my life, I mistook such lines for safety. I do not have to follow. My mind is a dry, hot wind stirring the ash; a frantic moth beating against the unyielding wire. It is the sudden clawing of a frightened animal, the bitter, ancient lure of being right, the tide that pulls the old hymns from my throat. I do not have to follow. Instead, cold rain enters the ash-dark soil. The run-off clears, stripping the blackened crust until desire and aversion loosen their old grip. A single grey thrush resumes its quiet call, and what was rigid loosens into breath, unbound from the boundary I carried within. I do not have to follow. I walk away from the rusted wire, humming no song I was given— only the rain’s small rhythm finding its way through me.
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