I am awakening from a deep slumber from the Inner Earth of the Mother,
Slow and Steady, I stumble my Body out from the Black,
The eerie green, and the purple bruises,
Skin dripping in Soil,
Draped in Gold and Mystic,
My scent, oozing of Honey and Roses,
I have awoken,
Hands covered in Splinters,
and arms plaited together with ropes,
Trying to create balance with my Back,
Stumbling, crawling, Walking,
I have been awoken to my Calling,
Someone has Called for Me,
Demanded I wake Up,
Jaag Musafir,
Wake up Believer
So I follow my Heart,
That which beats like desert drums,
It’s heat, calling Me,
Singing me out of my Trance,
Awakening me,
I spill my Guts onto the ground,
It’s pink and Red poison Rubies revealed,
Like a Medallion shaped as Pomegranates,
smashed upon Marble,
An Art work,
Vomiting out the Burning Sun,
That which made me Ill,
The Unholy,
Cleansing me,
Cleaning out the Soil from beneath my Eyes and
Digging out Seeds from my Pussy,
My Chamber of Secrets,
Draped in the Cursives of God,
Unveiling only to Self,
And the Inner,
The Sun.
I am Waking,
Body Unfreezing,
my nerves are loosening,
Unwinding themselves out of Fright
My Being Lighter,
Head clearer,
Skin looser,
Still there is Buzzing above my Mind,
But the clouds are slowly Moving,
The Thunder year is Clearing.
Lightening to Mark the Deaths,
Cleaning out that which needed to be electrocuted,
Upon Divine Will, and upon demanded Prayer,
Or asked Prayer,
Asking for the Road to Be Cleared,.
To have my Feet walk me to a Path closer to Him,
To the Centre,
To trust that what is meant for Me, will stay with Me,
To Trust,
That in all the Spaces Unseen, and unfelt,
That there are Pearls of Blessings forming a necklace across the different planes of Existence,
For me and my People.
That in the all Unseen Spaces,
Where my Eyes forget that they even exist,
Where Daturas flowers are draped in Skies that cannot be Seen and only Smelt,
That in the vast Spheres of Hell,
Movement is Happening,
Trusting the Flirt has reawoken,
And she never Died,
For She cannot be Killed.
How can She?
When the Slaughterer attempted all attempts at my Life,
And still could not Condemn me at the Cross,
For my Rooh*, my Soul and I were Dreamers.
Urdu
jaag musafir – wake up believer
Rooh – soul/ spirit/ ego / nafs