-traveller

cae24381decc7b77d90214dcd263f2bc
picture from the movie Bab Aziz

-traveller

perhaps this magnetic pull to other continents,
this incessant desire to travel abroad,
is our ancestral calling,
their bones finally sprouting in trees,
winds blowing past their branches,
carrying with them a voice,
to whisper into our ear,
and echo into our soul,

“come, come near,
we are waiting for you,
do not fear.”

And the pot boils,
the stories it has eavesdropped on,
atop the frail branches,
collected from a days toil.

The pot boils,
water for nightly elixir,
cinnamon, and bartered sugar blocks,
lemongrass from wild growth.

The pot boils like my belly,
aching for a morsel,
not of mutton, nor bread,
but taste my forefathers forehead,
on the lips of my longing,
reconcile my belongings.

Alchemist of souls,
the desert calls,
I know you’ll find me,
with the hosting of nobility,
perhaps, a metaphor,
my belly aching for emptying,
so my soul can soar.

The desert my rib cavity,
the fire sticks my bones,
and all along,
this longing for travel,
is a turning inward,
find my ancestors waiting,
and arrive home.

-W.E.

Please watch this video, which inspired this poem.
Whilst tempting to find scientific approximations on who I am and my background, they will always be approximations. The reality is that in spite of my actual backgrounds, the urges I have, the calling to other countries, to other land, to other people comes from a deep attachment within and conviction beyond what labs can offer me.
When I so choose to join the reins of the brave nomads of the world and leave this abode of confine we are so programmed to nestle in, I will  wander about wherever my soul leads me to.
I’ve mastered most of my internal flight, the simulator has been overworked, it’s time soon to cut the ties and set flight.
Enjoy

-standstill

northern harrier in fog 2

-standstill

how dreary is the wanderer
who’s heart remains the same
how wonderful is the confined
who’s soul traverses planes
the former moving but confined
stuck between body and brain
the later, still, but free
unshackled, unchained, boundless domains

-W.E.

 

so what will you choose
soul limbo, stagnant, pain
or the journey inside, unrestrained?

-W.E.

 

Stirring inside

womananceints
Won’t you let them come out?

Why are you drowning their voices?
A meal, a sweep, a wash, a beating, a hurting whirlwind,
Is that your lot?
When your ancestors lay dormant inside you,
Tugging at your carotid to wake up.
Unshackle me, they plea,
Even if the idea seems beyond you,
Come inside and be free.
Let us meet and sip tea,
From Moroccan pots,
Under olive trees.
Bare feet on mosaic tiles,
The imagery.
We’re your mothers, your grandmothers,
Your sisters and brothers,
Spices and aromas,
Fruits and elixirs.
Bazaars of rosaries,
For every aching prayer,
Enough for your fingers to wear,
Wear away your hearts care.
Come…… where,
In Fes, the axe was dropped there.
City of saints,
Of singing Sufis,
Of memorised litanies.
We’ll slap sandals on red dust,
And veil our faces from handsome boys lust.
Come, and share a meal made with loving hands,
Prayers of love blown over, as the Sahara blows over sands.
You won’t need a ticket, packed bag or passport,
No ships, cars or airports.
All you’ll need for this ride,
Is let go of superficialities, look inside.
-W.E.12940939_1733731186846049_1309447420_n
12798089_184232281952402_843531165_n