In the Midst of Misunderstanding
They all assume
That I am what I’m not.
But what can I do,
Other than to bear their misunderstood beliefs.
What would they say,
If they found out about my reality
Clouded with a fog
In which I can’t recognize myself.
(Who am I?)
Diluted with the public opinion.
Saturated with the communal customs.
I ended up in a place far from home.
(Where am I ?)
I seem to be surrounded by the rowdy chatter of human activity:
The braying of donkeys, the babbles of bargaining, the beauty of interaction.
The caravans of camels, the crushing of spices, the crude luxuries
That are denied to me.
I used to live a happy life
Knowing who I was,
Knowing where I was.
Now I live the Midst of the known land,
Surrounded by sand,
With only the company of a feral cat.
They think of him as my father
I see him as-
The land of spices, the origin of spiritual realms, the rise of religious architecture,
Was stripped from me as death would do away life.
The attempt to recover what is lost has failed,
Over and over and over again,
What can I fight for?
Until my Persian fabric,
Tyrian and navy intertwined with threads of gold,
Until my magical light holder,
Aurulent and intricately carved
I will be known by their standards,
I am what they call me,