the house is her.
Till she came we inhabited
geometric squares and rectangles
softened at the moment of her birth,
the walls began to unfurl as petals,
we gave off a new fragrance,
the doors opened as envelopes filled with money,
the stairs were stairways,
all definitions expanded,
the house became a globe revolving around her,
the sun in our midst, never mind she was born
in the dead of winter, she was fire, she was the hearth,
she the prophet whose teachings I learnt through
my expanding heart; there is no dark side to this,
no irony, no appeasing the cynicism of this century,
mine is the way of seeing blessings on earth.
To leave this house is to leave her history,
as time delivers us first from heaven,
then from the body of our mothers,
then from the body of our country,
then from the body of earth,
Free.