Permanent Footprints

I want to live in the world of ideas,
the only place where permanence exists.

But every time I lose myself
in its sea of question marks,
I am reminded of my humanity,
of my body slowly rotting away,
and my urge to eat,
and procreate,
and move my bowels.

I pretend that my words
will be immortal,
but they too shall pass.

I want to step in Siddartha’s river
and make the transient water halt.
But I am no Moses.
Nirvana is beyond my grasp.

I want to leave footprints,
to enact a profound change,
but as I walk down the beach,
the tide comes in and washes them away,
erasing my very existence.

I try to convince myself
that it is not the footprints that matter,
but only the beautiful walk on the beach.

But I cannot purge this toxic needto be important and remembered.