FROM THE SKIN TO THE SOUL

MONSOON, MEMORIES AND MI AMOR

Every year the summer wakes up from its yearly slumber
I wait for the Westerlies to traverse through the vastness of my nation
and then collide with the mountains of your state
for the opposite masses of air to intersect and cause
the downpour of rain--- a mesmerizing sight of a grave thirst finally getting quenched.
With the longing of a lover left way before its due time,
I watch the raindrops penetrate the aridity of the land
where they buried you seven winters back.
Petrichor! They exclaim while they take in the earthy scent
knowing not it's the fragrance of our togetherness
that you held onto like a loyal soldier while you rested inside the soil's chest.
For a minute, my soul opens its door and I lose myself
in the bittersweet taste of monsoon fall;
A sudden strike of thunder and with the pace of lightening
I rush to the reality where your absence is the only thing I possess
along with the deep scars in my heart as souvenirs
of the time I was poetically loved and caressed.
A woman with high ambitions, I cleanse my tears
with a mourner's smile: melancholic, yet dignified.
When tomorrow comes, I will be out again with a pen and a notebook
in my hand, to profess to the world that a free love exists,
the one that is unfazed by the limits set by time or the innate
nature of a man's body to eventually decay and cease to be.
Once a lover, now I am a messenger of the only treasure that liberates a being:
"Let go of your Nafs, come back, come back
To the wilderness within you where the salvation
you seek in others actually rests."
Chanting this is my only goal until I hear the divine call
to share the hard earned space next to my beloved at the end of it all.