Profound
Questions emanate
bats escaping from mountain caves at dusk
flooding gushing water down a gorge
Questions
in her three languages
possibilities on a pallet
combine
until there is one language
remaining
for answers
Questions
her soul emits
shrouded by a veil for so long,
a human soul seeking identity,
longing to know the delicate curves of her shoulders,
struggling to see the canals of rhythm
undulating down her legs
river of tabla-fire-dancing-
wishing to know the color of her eyes
she was not permitted to notice,
breaking through the armor of mistrusted centuries
recalling the simple rise and fall of her breasts,
the wonder of the soul,
woman’s soul
pulsating from ancient places of her womanhood,
receiving joy from ancient invitations of her humanity—
chimes and bells heard clearly for the first time as answers,
questions,
chords of mysterious half-notes
played in a foreign key
signature of time...
She ponders:
Who am I?
Does balance exist?
May I be permitted to smell those flowers around me ?
Shall I finally taste the nectar of my imagination?
Who am I?
What is this life?
Who are you?
May I be permitted to celebrate my soul?
Who am I?
Where am I going?
Eid!
And her questions do not require answers.
Questions, like children,
need nurturing...answers do not matter.
Her life must be sustained.
Her questions must be embraced
silk treasures they are,
composed of turquoise,
precious tamarind.
Tucson, 1992