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