Mantra East

Born on a pearling Island in the East Drifting through seas of Who I am meant to be I am the son of a Middle Eastern man Peach in hand Growing strands Taken by the sands My beard grows into My cultural past Getting stopped at Airports reignites who I am Give me an orchestra of Hissing snakes Divided by the things that Make us great My bodies dripping from It's humid pride Forever searching for my Spiritual guide Too much perfection is To be a mistake Illusions made by Master’s of rattle snakes I am an outsider Of sheltering skies An archipelago of Different eyes Translate my visions Into shimmering wholes A thousand steps Leading into the unknown Vanished like sunlight From a landscape above Perpetuating explorations Of one