They scroll and scan, they bookmark, save,
pour digital wine on a mental grave.
Another course, another plate
the mind expands, but not with weight?
Oh, but it does. The ghost grows thick
with undigested fact and trick.
Indigestion:
The half-truth lodged beneath the rib,
the quote misused, the glib ad-lib.
Acid rising—doubt and spite
“Did I learn that, or did I cite?”
Cramps of confusion, bloated pride:
a feast where nothing truly died
to give them life. They groan and toss,
each new idea a heavier cross.
Obesity:
Sitting soft in a chair of lore,
able to name what they cannot ignore
every system, every school,
armed with the map, but not the fuel.
The body of knowledge, a mountain of scrolls,
has swallowed the learner and buried the goals.
They waddle through arguments, breathless, slow,
burdened by everything they know.
But the Lean Mind:
it takes a sentence like a seed,
chews the tough rind to find the need.
It sweats the meaning, breaks it down,
lets the bitter remake the crown.
What comes out the other side
is not more knowledge, but a guide
a single step made firm and light,
digested truth that walks at night.
So ask your belly, not your shelf:
What have I truly made myself?
For knowledge eaten but not changed
leaves the spirit cramped and caged.
But the slow, the patient, the metabolized
they walk like stars through hungry skies.
©TheVillageBoy.
(The figure man who loves alphabets)
