Naomi Shihab Nye,
if i ever take my poetry seriously it would be because i am greatly inspired by her.
life turns each one of us around differently doesn't it?
so most of the time conflict, sorrow, loss create more and more of themselves in numerous worlds , in the hearts of numerous people.

In the mean while, Nye and people like her live amidst sufferers and weave suffering differently.


Making a Fist- Naomi Shihab Nye

For the first time, on the road north of Tampico,
I felt the life sliding out of me,
a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear.
I was seven, I lay in the car
watching palm trees swirl a sickening pattern past the glass.
My stomach was a melon split wide inside my skin.

"How do you know if you are going to die?"
I begged my mother. 
We had been traveling for days.
With strange confidence she answered,
"When you can no longer make a fist."

Years later I smile to think of that journey,
the borders we must cross separately,
stamped with our unanswerable woes.
I who did not die, who am still living,
still lying in the backseat behind all my questions,
clenching and opening one small hand.

A always spoke about his boyhood years with such brightness, adoration and unadorned joy.
Then many years later, a grown man now, on his trip to the Himalayas, he took a picture of his childhood and put it in a time capsule forever.

Alexi Murdoch

Whether i am happy/pensive/dreamy/unperturbed/awake/sleepless. Your songs color my lackadaisical life. 

I will only love you more.