I am Creation

 (I think this needs some more work, but keeping it here for the time being)

I am that wild thing that races in the wind.

I have spit out the bit. I have shaken off the bridle.

I cannot be harnessed by mundane punctuation grammar structure syntax.

I’m the laughter in a child’s eyes, I’m the wing in the bird’s flight, I’m the call of the wild.

I’m the chaos of erupting lava. I am the abstract in the rainbow colours.

I am music without harmony. I am the incongruity in nature’s wanton.

I am the river in spate that obeys no binding boundaries. I gush. I rush. I break my banks.

And spill all over. Swirling. Gouging. Devouring everything in my path. Yet creating new life.

I am disorder. I am revelry. I am the rejoice in the birds’ chorus. I am the undomesticated in Mother Nature. I am the child of liberation. I am celebration.

Not for me the well ordered gardens of governed minds with neatly trimmed hedges. Give me weeds. Give me gorse. Give me thickets. Give me undergrowths where creatures wriggle struggle survive die.

I am the voice that blunders in Life. I am the burst in the star’s birth. I am the lucent remnant in a celestial death. I am the cosmos whose motif cannot be contained. I am form without form. I am song. I am Creation.

-by Rita Putatunda