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They say God seeks friendship within a veiled temple,
but I am an open vessel hungry for miracles,
the type a woman, my neighbour, sought
the day she walked barefoot to her God.
As I write this poem, I am imagining how God
would feel to see her loaded with anxieties on her back.
Like this woman, I am carrying the world on my back.
I tightened my country so well it won’t fall.
Midway, my back aches, not for the weight of the world
but that which lies in my heart. I think of homeless boys.
I think of the bleeding hamlet. I think of you.
I think of tomorrow, if it ever comes.
I think of us, if we can ever stay alive to witness tomorrow.