Picking Weeds in the Park

By Tanielle Dlamini


Fallen curls are the only trace of my existence

The grass tickles my feet

Bees brush my nose

The wind carries me away

Letting me float with the clouds

Flying with the birds


The feeling sends a rush to my brain

Addicting dopamine

I breathe in and out

It runs through my veins like ants







How ever could I exist in such a world?

How ever could I exist?

How could I?



The feeling of a tree branch snaps me back into my senses.

My body splayed like a leopard. 

The chirps of birds and cicadas are music of the forest. 

The smell of the earth is intoxicating

Thick and pungent

The crisp air fills my lungs







My back is on the ground

Smoke is in the air

And I am at peace

In a world in which I do not know

I have reached nirvana