The little girl
Grew up to be
A little strange
Hungry for change
And for new places to see
The little girl drew her own maps
Wrote her own books
Created her own reality
The little girl hated their sanity
And the boredom it brought
She often thought
If it has been done before
No need to do once more
And so she carved a brand new world
She missed the smell
Of the slightly rotten wood
Covered by the scent of cinnamon
Freshly baked bread
And warm coffee
She missed the morning mist
And the days she felt lonely
As this new home
Carried a new smell
The fresh paint
Had no story to tell
He smiled and assured her
We’ll make it our own
With our son on the way
You’ll never been alone
I find pieces
Among the ashes that were left
Too small to truly tell
But I knew it’s where I sat
Gathering stories
Making believe
That I could escape
That I would leave
I find pieces familiar, yet strange
For I have wandered far
And with time
I grew to love change
I learned that without those pieces
I’m still whole
Shedding them off had failed
To make me feel small
The earth gives me power
And I, like you, little flower
Have learned to push the concrete aside
Have learned that I no longer need to hide
And I came to know my true power
I think I lost my way
Trying to figure out a new destination
I think I lost my purpose
Following this automatic navigation
Image credit: https://pin.it/2ZuHAWh
Did you plant this vine
The one that poisoned your hand
Did you set it free in your garden, in your land
?
This poison that you can’t seem to find
Is crippling your mind
Like that vine
That someone else planted
When their entrance was never granted
But their thoughts slipped away
Finding roots in your bay
And you allowed them to stay
Cause you needed the company
Until your body was covered in a rash
And your mind started to dash
Across the negativity of their thoughts
Can you now realize
That you are not ill
That there’re poisonous plants, still
Lingering in your garden, in your mind
Rid away with them all
And stand
Strong
Once more
Some days I crave a sun so bright
Instead of Memphis rain
And people that can say my real name
Some days I feel my skin turning back
A darker shade close to black
And I hear my roots calling me home
But most days I know I am not alone
In feeling so far away from home
We’re all immigrants after all
Waiting for the call
To return to heaven
The ebook version of my book Stranger Paths, The Magic in The Madness is FREE on Amazon today and the next 2 days!
I would love to see it in your library and hear your thoughts about my journey from Iraq to America, from war to hope.
I hope you join the child I was, as she stood watching missiles brighten the darkness of her village, smiling as she hopes for a change. I hope you see the positivity leaking through my pages bit by bit as poems continue on. I wish to share the untold story of my people, of the civilians at war, of the children that had no choice but to accept their fate.
Our days are numbered but our numbers mean that we have survived so much, that we’re all the same.
I made a video to briefly describe my book for those more visually inclined.
My book can be found on Amazon in the link below
War took a different shape
One that was not so familiar
But they thought that my war was more valid
One that had actual bombing, shooting and destruction
But I see the validity in their pain
After all
We’re all the same
And
Divorce
Abuse
Illness
Boredom
Lack of inspiration
Are all battles we fight
None more significant than another
To those experiencing them
All teach us what we need
All point us to peace
To love
To the pursuit of happiness
Would your finger wish your hand harm?
Would your finger wish your arm harm?
Would you?
Well-being is a choice
One that helps the body rejoice
For its master
…
Would you, a small part of this universe
Wish harm
On your larger self
Your whole?
No not at all
Well being comes from well wishing
Wish well
Stranger Paths 