What are you?
Are you the dandelion in the cracks between the sidewalk?
The cluster of red berries in the dead of winter?
Are you the tsunami wave that kills everything in its path?
Are you sex? Are you drugs?
Are you ancient men in white burning the fruit of women?
Are you madness in a hospital gown, bowing and screaming to the fluorescent lights?
A molecule? A formula? A particle and a wave at the same time?
Are you the blood that covers a newborn baby?
Inshallah, someday you'll tell me.
Inshallah, you'll tell me why half the men in the world tell me to cover up and the other half tell me to take it off, baby, take it off.
Inshallah, you'll tell me why there are still people dying in the streets--how could you make a world filled with such cruelty?
Inshallah, you'll tell me why the sunrise sears my soul; why I wake up every morning because the beauty you created gives me no other option.
Inshallah, you'll tell me why they hate us, why they spit at our feet, smash our windows, set us on fire, all because we look like those devils in black.
Inshallah, you'll tell me why people kill in your name--who do you think you are? Or are you crying too?
Inshallah, you'll tell me why every time I've stood on the brink you've swept me into your arms and carried me home.
Inshallah, you'll tell me why all the love I've ever known has pointed again, and again, and again to you.
What are you?
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