Hameeda L. Linog
Like a Green Tendril
Like a green tendril—
a beautiful, creeping vine against pale skin—
my vein climbs from my lower wrist
up towards the palm of my hand, whispering:
“I know of the fate written along these lines.
I know every twine and every twisted strand.
I bring tidings to your heart.”
“But there is hesitance
in your pulse—in your very being.
You distrust a heart
that beats you into living. Live!”
The night thickens
with a buzzing noise in my ear.
My skin becomes paler
as all rhythms falter.
Blood spatters and spills on the cold tiles.
My hand loses its grip.
Holiness in Surrender
Give me a soft word
and make me an idiot again.
Make me submit—hands on my knees,
lap folded, eyes lowered.
Steal my breath,
because only with you
do I come alive again.
I come alive again!
How is it that I find worship
in complete surrender?
How is it that I come alive
by being unmade?
Darling, allow me to bleed—
—and then to bloom beneath.
Give me voice
where there is none.
With you,
I become whole in pieces.
And that—
that I would call holy.