I want her.
She is made for my soil
nourishing her body.
She is made for my world
nourishing her mind.
A daughter of the planet
being chosen by earth
in the perennial negotiations of
division of souls between
life-hosting planets of the universe.
The others gave her up reluctantly,
She was a beautiful soul.
Wished no one else ill,
claimed only what truly belonged to her.
Wanted only to stay curious and
go madly after what sparked her.
Earth won.
Like it won every single soul it held thus far
Like every parent beaming with joy for a newborn
Like every plant winning its first bloom.
She was dropped into a cell,
like a teardrop on a rose petal,
the cell gave her a home, and
began, earnestly building it.
The limbs spring out,
the eyes are attached.
The nose pops out,
the heart starts pumping.
The stomach expands out,
and the mighty brain to take it all.
Like a poem that feels unfinished,
and rain thats eager to burst,
the life form gets ready to
become, to finish, to pour,
to laugh out so loud that the
planet reverberates with joy and
with the pride of a father,
who had chosen his daughter.
Sitting across the Pacific Ocean, the afternoon sun warming my legs, my cup of English tea emptied, I could not begin to explain how happy I felt, how free I found myself. I thought of all of the oceans I had stared into, the sand I had walked upon, distinct geographically yet the same. I thought of all the airports that I had spilled out of, to run along new paths, climb new mountains, open doors to new museums and browse through new bookstores. Like exploring a new line on the palm of my father’s hand.
While writing the poem, I also remembered a friend tell me that she feels misplaced on earth – as if she truly belonged on a different planet. I loved what she said.
Alleys 