In My Plam

I love the golden Sun kissing my skin,
 It makes me beautiful,
 Like an exquisite creature sought after by the mighty Sun himself,
 I am intoxicated,
 I have been drinking this freshness ever since,
 I am warm and safe,
 It’s neither the quilt nor the heater talking.
 I am not aging, I am a child; nobody’s child,
 I drown, I resurface,
 I am not very coherent,
 But I make sense to me,
 I have been summoned by my great destiny,
 To remember that grace is all around,
 It’s pouring from the sky, from people’s hearts,
 It’s there in my palm so I may bless all those who queue outside my home.

The Song of the Sufi Masroof