Swirling dervishes, dance in circles
They lose their exterior bound bodies to the outer world by dancing
An insult to use the word dance
For they pray,
With each rhythm bursting from their feet to the ground
White bodies swirling
I dance like this, in loss of you
I create an orchestra from my body
Trying to embody the loss that was stolen from my life
Make a warchestra, from the war that laid in my chest for so long
My hands still mapped with your guidance
And I may have wronged you for a long time
But actually fruition has led itself to the creation that is Ameera
That is Malanghi
Birds still fled around me when I weep,
Like harps I have found a war cry,
On the ground that blood is spilled,
now tears have stained it,
Your name is still played on my tongue,
That like songs you are replayed and never forgotten
That your words will always plaster themselves across the sky,
On days where the sun beams,
I still find you in water
Find myself at the sea
On my own,
they don’t realise that I am a witch
The Rivers rebirthing me
My eyes glistening in the sweet holy water
My home is now the ground I harvest from
My body a Mosque
I am trying to pray in a place that was a sin,
Urdu still the tongue I prefer
Still the palace I long to breathe in
I close my eyes
I long to see you once more.
Maybe one day.