I am not responsible for your opinion of me.
I am alone responsible for my receiving air and what it gives; creates.
I am not my poetry for they are poems; be they dormant, dust, invoked, or evocative.
I am not your thoughts, feelings, and actions.
I am not all that is between the birth and death of your being’s make.
I am not you and I am not perfect.
And any formation of rank or perfection might be my problem and fault line.
I am not here to become a perfect need, or to secure perfections’ want. No.
I am here to respond if my self is a living problem in the forge of problems making.
And so I am responsible in time and space to my creations and their fallings in return.
And so I am responsible for the creation of my problems that believe they are just this.
As I am responsible for the ends of all I hold endlessly to me.
And so when all the things are now gone (only to be held here regardless) they are still over.
And what is over here is found exactly where one left it to be learned again.
And so the exercising of times memory lives to wade through the replays of suffering tears
Through the mind of emotions lost to find one lightening.
So to birth the sound of joy is here and now is healing old wounds and their makers.
And I am not your judgment, and yet the air of what remains held may be.
All the air I move into and through is art working.
The art of being one life lives to pass through forms of time holding.
To now let go.
And I am, as my being here will die someday.
And so comes the wake of all that was done through me.
All the transactions of my deeds, behaviors, and living mind-movements are over here.
And here what is done is artwork, and this may echo now in all forms to bemotion.
The moving is in the shifting will and the shaping rot of form moves.
And I am not the world will, or will not, receive me.
I am not silence or sound between forest and tree.
Time is, and now will be what was the wake of my sound living passage.
Inhale what you in form will live here.
Responsibility lies here in the absorption of what is received.
The penetration may emote in you to now reside within you are here.
And here lies no universal principle of fighting, destruction, or war.
All that comes to battle is the responsibility of one equals nothing more.
And now the eternal peace of creation, with all the storms of nature, transpires.
And gratitude for all form is here.
And what remains by you alone can deny, and so too remove, nothing.
Nothings’ gone here now, but the freed power of responsibilities are at hand.
And the living age-old questions are still.
And their answers may be the question is not answerable without a deeper question.
And one deeper question is “If a tree falls in the forest and there is no one around to hear it,
why does it matter to you and what is sound?”
© Copyright 5/12/2008 C.C. Arshagra
From “The Poetry of Good-bye” manuscript series and collection. Vol.3 “Nothings’ Gone” (Unpublished work)
This poem is the closing piece to “Nothings’ Gone” a volume of poetry within the manuscript series and collection titled “The Poetry of Good-bye.”
The music recorded with poem you may hear at the above link can be found at at www.jamendo.com @ the link below