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The Things I Carry I carry words of years elapsed hidden within my lips, stained in sinful purity--not of touch, but

of secrets. I carry beliefs caged within the soul, yearning, craving rejuvenation. I carry my breaths, the birth of ideas. I carry thoughts, the droplets of the ocean of perception, and experiences, leaves from the tree of life. As these experiences unfold, I carry weightless footsteps, aimless and full of potential. With my steps, I transfer the dust from roads untouched. I carry freedom as my mind wanders and wonders of opportunity. I carry my liberties and individuality. I carry both burdensome and ethereal memories. When I walk through the halls of three years past, I carry the echoing symphony of my reminiscence. I haul around a bag of two pounds filled with books, five pounds of tangible knowledge. I carry my grades, supposed indicators of my intelligence, and with that, my stress. I carry my running shoes, each half a pound from cross country races. I also hold a pound of belts from competitions in Taekwondo. I carry with me substantial endurance. However, at the most basic level, the things I carry are as vacillating as the direction of the winds. They are certain aspects of my life, particularly of adolescence specialty. I carry my name, a rain-cloud in Sanskrit, along with the waves of tenebrous clouds, long bearing of their children raindrops. I carry the sins upon the dusted earth and the released purity of the tears of the sky. I carry rays illuminating others wisdom. I carry the summer haze that has clung to the whispering clouds. I carry the voice of the irrevocable time, speaking of seasons that pass as the never-ending orchestra of the river bend. I carry conversations that have lit the midnight skies, and broken compasses, .2 pounds each. My mind resonates with the rendition of the compass needle turning further and further until all direction is lost. I carry moral ambiguity. I carry the snow of yesteryear, purified with sinless

alabaster. I often clutch on for far too long and watch lights grace shed away the seemingly solidified state. I futilely hold onto the liquid, which trickles down into the smallest waterfall, gone forever. I carry acceptance. Once my palms no longer carry, I preserve the remnants of the forgotten. I sustain the cosmic dance of stars and footsteps, with anklets that jingle the constellations into being. I carry the timeless Vedas that speak of a thandavam thundering waves of liberation across the Milky Way, a stage of soul dancers. I grasp onto creations from destructions and meditation for passion. With this cosmic dance, I hold the past nuclear reactions of the stars, exploding into an unimaginable source of power or supernova. I carry the spread of star debris and the stardust within one and all. I carry the fundamental consciousness, omnipresent at the very essence. I carry humble Namastes and the preservation of life through words. As an individual, I carry what I can bear, and then, a silent awe for the scintillating potential for the things I carry. However, at the end of the day, I carry everything and nothing at all but my own life.