POET

I am the stomach dweller who couldn't walk
I am the two handed two eyed two eared god
Selfless and selfish the half glass raised
A marked stigma both disgraced and holy
The stigma of a rose
That enticed the wasp
Welcomed by the warm wind's caress
And swaddled by the shroud of the dead
And their deeds

I am the gift of my blessings

I am the days of mud
Climbing from open latrines
The reek shit of it in my nails
and nostrils hair skin

I am the days of gin and jinn
Of purging and purgatory
Days of denial

I am the season of monsoon
When in rains' respite
When drops dripped
To run upon my upturned face
I knew rain

I am the gift of my blessings

And that gift the sun
That by all that is grace and good
Is not a half sun
A hunter worm wolf or new sun
It does not wax or wane
Or defraud with the illusion of eclipse
I am the light that brooks no shadow
May truth shine through me

I am that which I am
The gift of my blessings
I am poet