The Chronicle Gambia

Twitches and Echos

Of Womanness and Wild Dreams…musings of a stranded traveler.

That fullness within my chest – it left.
In its place, there is a different kind of craving

It makes the heart twitch and the twitch echos in the arm

It makes you bitter and solemn


Remembrance, of self and of the many divine sources of happiness

Of the gift of spreading one’s heart open, of forming many centers. Each absorbing the beauty, the growth, the freedom of loving, not selfishly, not one, but all. The kind of love that draws tears from one’s eyes at the recognition of the presence of god in the most wretched of beings. In the humid, sweaty, hassling, heaving mass, as in the quiet serenity of the skies at sunset.

I reclaim my being.


Before I am hardened

Before I am blinded by the artificial wealth of man

Before the growing contempt for the poor is engraved within my chest

Before I lose sight of the beauty of it all, of the patterns, of the perfection

Before I forget what it means to be plain and simple

To mingle without prejudice

Before I forget what it feels to live, to breath in, to not have a care

Before I forget how to write poetry

And feed off it

Before I spend my life seeking wealth that is meaningless

I reclaim myself



The wind and the leaves have the most wondrous stories to share, if only you’d listen.

The clatter of man is deafening, it blocks out the voice of God – of the universe.

With its bells and adhans and it’s frenzied search for truth where it cannot be found.

Walk with the oceans, they were in the beginning and will be in the end… walk with the waters, not by the waters. One is all.

Reclaim yourself.

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