Kindling

This city’s neverending noise —
the constant chatter,
the pounding that echoes through my bones,
cars whooshing left and right.

No one stops.
No one pauses for a thought
or notices anything beyond
the little screens they cradle in their palms —
those tiny gadgets that rule our lives,
filling our minds with lies
and artificial butterflies,
until we forget to search for the real ones.

We forget how the sun feels on bare skin,
how the wind caresses our cheeks
and tangles our hair,
how frost tingles on our lips
and paints our faces
like strawberries and cream.

And above all,
we forget how the forest breathes air so clear,
and how the stones hum songs so ancient
that even spirits must stop
and listen.