Sometimes, you just need a poem to help make sense of the world. Poems to heal your heart or to hear an echo of emotions for which you haven’t found the words.
Last week, I described myself as a kind of secular humanist to a co-worker and we spent the tail end of the webinar we were watching talking about what that means in the context of faith. It’s so refreshing to have a friendly conversation about beliefs. I marvel at the work of poets past and present. Here are excerpts from two works that recently left me breathless. Reading them together, I see a connection:
Forget the world, and so
command the world.
Be a lamp, or a lifeboat, or a ladder.
Help someone`s soul heal.
Walk out of your house like a shepherd.
Stay in the spiritual fire.
Let it cook you.
Be well-baked loaf
and lord of the table.
Come and be served
to your brothers.
You have been a source of pain.
Now you`ll be the delight.
You have been an unsafe house.
Now you`ll be the One
who sees into the Invisible.
I said this, and a Voice came to my ear:
If you become this, you will be That!
and now more Silence.
A mouth is not for talking.
A mouth is for tasting this sweetness.
From “Home” by Somali-British poet Warsan Shire
no one leaves home unless
home is the mouth of a shark
you only run for the border
when you see the whole city running as well
your neighbours running faster than you
breath bloody in their throats
the boy you went to school with
who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory
is holding a gun bigger than his body
you only leave home
when home won’t let you stay.
no one leaves home unless home chases you
fire under feet
hot blood in your belly
it’s not something you ever thought of doing
until the blade burnt threats into
and even then you carried the anthem under
only tearing up your passport in an airport toilets
sobbing as each mouthful of paper
made it clear that you wouldn’t be going back.
you have to understand,
that no one puts their children in a boat
unless the water is safer than the land
no one burns their palms
no one spends days and nights in the stomach of a truck
feeding on newspaper unless the miles travelled
means something more than journey.
Are there poems that have been speaking to you? Good Bones by Maggie Smith is another.