Anatta

to be or not to be #nonself

By Caroline JanePublished about a year ago • 1 min read

Photo by Zac Durant on Unsplash

I have lost myself

in the emptiness of sky.

Leave me to be free.

fact or fiction

About the Creator

Caroline Jane

Warm-blooded vertebrate, domesticated with a preference for the wild. Howls at the moon and forages on the dark side of it. Laughs like a hyena. Fuelled by good times and fairy dust. Writes obsessively with no holes barred.

Reader insights

Nice work

Very well written. Keep up the good work!

Top insight

On-point and relevant
Writing reflected the title & theme

Add your insights

Comments (2)

Mike Singleton - Mikeydredabout a year ago
You Made The Words Fit In This Perfect Senryū Great Words Caroline
Babs Iversonabout a year ago
Fantastic!!!

Keep reading

More stories from Caroline Jane and writers in Poets and other communities.

Princess,
Beneath tissue skin, into a concrete basin, tributaries bleed.
By Caroline Janeabout a year ago in Poets
Housekeeping
Reading glasses swinging back and forth, dangling from a drug store string slung around my neck I said, to myself of course, I never want to wear this kind of thing. But now I do, sometimes. I like the idea of relaxing, being a comfortable woman of the home, swinging open the door in a batik housedress, casually welcoming someone in, pets or as the French say, animals for company, something like that. As if pets had no other reason to be. Years of watching women folding, unfolding, refolding socks, sheets, dinner napkins, a lot happens in those moments of freshly laundered piles heaped onto the sofa, better the dining room table as long as it’s clean of course. My grandparents hung it all out in the sun, flopping away without a care, ironing sheets was necessary. When my paternal grandmother died, the very night she passed over the clothesline, into the black heavens sprinkled with sequins of silver, she came to me in a dream. I stood at a table folding clothes, I became aware that there was someone next to me folding as well. I first recognized her hands, red and wrinklie, with age spots. “Nanny?” I didn’t look toward her; she said in her most comforting southern way, “Don’t be afraid.” Then I turned toward the left looking up, up, up, and there she was all in white, a long crisp gown, fresh and smiling. “I love you.” She’d spoke. Then she was gone.
By ROCK a day ago in Poets
Old Man Goose
It’s raining it’s pouring I’m the old man snoring Where did I get this bump on my head? I hope I wake up in the morning
By Shaun Walters4 days ago in Poets
2024
Later, she would remember that minute in bursts: as though she were standing behind a bright light that flashed between scenes, flickering oddly with colors that were too bright before her eyes:
By Laur F.about 19 hours ago in Humans

Anatta

to be or not to be #nonself

About the Creator

Caroline Jane

Reader insights

Nice work

Top insight

On-point and relevant

Comments .css-4do22h{color:var(--text-default-mute);}.css-19zxm0z-Text{display:inline-block;color:var(--text-default-mute);}(2)

Keep reading

Princess,

Housekeeping

Old Man Goose

2024

Comments (2)