Diaspora Blues 


Out of the marshes,
I fly to a land unknown.
Neither here nor there.

The heart tugs at the soul
and calls out to the Master,
“Where art, Thou?”

Walk into the woods.
Prick, fall, bleed.
Hear the soft sound of ‘breaking’.

In a crowd of all you love,
your reflection feels foreign,
your shadow seems wrong.

The ugliness of ‘why’ pins me
down.
And all is gone.

They don’t know of the battles.
It is, but, a glass wall.
Broken, yet? Slowly, broken.

Out of the marshes,
I fly away, to a land unknown.
Neither here nor there.

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Photo credits: Haniya Ather (Instagram: @lemonandscotch

 

All of us – you and I, the man you pass by on the street everyday on your way to work, that girl who is the life of every party, that ambitious boy in your class who tops every exam – all of us, are soldiers of spiritual battles that are fought valiantly. Sometimes for days at a stretch, sometimes for a fleeting second. But it’s there all right, it’s what makes us us. And why wouldn’t it? No matter how far we come, we always look back towards home. And the soul has only one home, I think. But it’s kind of comforting, isn’t it, to know that we’re all lost together – some of us are looking for the Way, some of us think we are on the way and this is it, and some of us don’t even know that there’s something out there in the marshes calling us. It’s loud and clear.

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