I do not speak
from the mountaintop.

I speak
from the valley I learned
to survive.

I sat where you sit.
I doubted as you doubt.
And still
I’m here.

Not fixed.
Not fearless.
But faithful
to the journey.

So tell me your pain.
I won’t run.
I have heard
its voice before.

There are days
I look at the world
as though it were a painting
hung slightly askew.
People move,
but they do not reach me.
I speak,
but I do not hear my voice
as mine.

I walk in my own shadow,
not lost,
just not yet returned.

But I know
this too
is me.
Yes me,
passing through
a narrow place.
I’ll be out.

If parents are the pillars
your life should rest on,
what becomes of the orphan
whose breath still carries purpose?

If riches are the pillars
your life should rest on,
why then does the poor man
still wake to the dawn
with a song in his chest?

If children are the pillars
your life should rest on,
what of those
whose arms remain empty
but whose hearts hold galaxies?

🪴
A.J Imrana