Those grey strands…

Those grey strands of my hair

Stand out like glistening streaks How they remind me in a mocking way Of aging , the inevitable, Of the beginning , When you are born crunched, crouched, cramped To unfurl, grow up, to flourish- The lustre, the suppleness, like the bloom of spring Every time, I fell in love, I broke apart, or I found my being, I sought to fulfil a duty, a wish, a want Every day, every time, What I had borne, what I had birthed, what I had shed, The breath that was like the wild wind, To sweep everything away, Its whistle that kept blowing To keep me on its wings, never to tarry awhile But even the wild spirit seeks its nest, someday When age catches up And you slowly start to crouch, crunch and cramp Yet again, you are back to where you had begun I see my own reflections - the suppleness that once was To the sagging folds of my skin… Or the black bouncy cascades Receding into grey strands, as their sheen fades Yes, what once was, will never be; Everything that ages, everything that withers To fall back to the earth Let me learn to shed in gladness, Embrace this change- those gray strands The silver streaks – let me braid them In a new breath, slowly, surely, wisely; Let me age, to accept what I become?