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