Ghazal for Becoming Your Own Country

Know what the nearly gone dandelion knows. Piece by piece

The body petitions to God home. Its entire head a shroud, a breeze blown lady.

At the point when every one of the moms are gone, outline the pictures. Wood spoon over

Bubbling pot, test the milk on your own wrist. Your dirt, sand, and mud-developed lady of the hour.

Assuming you miss your stop. Or on the other hand lose love. Assuming even the medication harms as well.

In any event, when your side-eye, your face smelled, still, your heart groans lady of the hour.

Screw the haze ease off the mirror. Trust the street in your name. Ride

Your moon conceals through the completely dark. Need to be your own lady of the hour.

Consume the honey. Compose the letters. What address could hold you?

Nectar arms, nectar hands. Old tire sound against the rock. Baritone lady of the hour.

Goodest misery is a plantation you know. Be that as it may, you have not been killed

Once. Holy messenger, put that on everything. Self. Country. Stone. Lady of the hour.