- in the name of Allah -

would that my words were clay in my hands, waiting for their Breath of Life, rather than unplanted seeds in my throat, choking down whatever time demands, leaving me adrift with no boat. 

I've sank and risen, more often than I can count with the digits of toes and fingers I'm given, from anarchy to submission to desolation. Walking my own personal Trail of Tears, blessings abound but only absence rings in the ears, a longing unmet stretches from years to decades to lifetimes, eventually leading me back here. 

going too deep, always adore the drowning, can never stay long though, Allah keeps bringing air to lungs, so the next moment is where I'm found in. an existence forced, the unpalatable becoming the bread and butter of a main course, unsuited I am but regardless the journey stretches forth, a string who's start I can see but ending beyond sight or ability to mourn.