I.
Once,
Home was a feeling
Rather than a place of birth.
When borders had not yet formed
Scars on the face of the earth.
When we were moving, dancing,
Flowing at peace, composing
The songs of our souls
With unbroken, effortless
Ease.
II.
Later we discovered
The nightmares.
They reside in the shadows of brightening light
And hide the costs of their promises. They
Propose a concept of powerful words, but
Impose a concept of dominance.
During this night
We got a first taste
Of the varieties of anxieties
We would learn to face.
III.
Something calls
For deaths
And something suggests
New beginnings
Something gives in.
Somewhere
A frame bursts into pieces.
For a few motionless breaths
The night rests
Before it leaves
And suddenly: sunlight
And suddenly
The breath our lungs emit is hot
We’ve got flames on our tongues
The words that we write
Are burning.
Dshamilja feels things, thinks things, does things.
And she sometimes writes things to process the above.