… a poem by Anjum Alam<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Only in the deep blue of night where I dare to dream do I think about the course of the sun rising
in the east, settling in the west, all in a day\u2019s work. The way rivers meander, reeling in the ocean,
carving canyons in their wake. A fine line splits the sea. And from a flow of magma, which has
ebbed for 4.4 BILLION YEARS, comes an island. Scavenged and salvaged, I dive deep,
headfirst, but with this bright-eyed slope of sand, I am at a loss. Like a viper sidewinding through
the Sahara, my steps sink in, slowing me to a stop. Nothing arises from this pause, epic
realization or otherwise. I am stuck. In place. In time. And when it rains down from the skies
above, there is no baptismal reincarnate, only mud. Its gross. But the rains recede, the Sun rises.
The flowers bloom, turnstiles spin, and the wind whisper its own tinkling tune. My footsteps
mold to the surface. I am here. I am a part of this. Are you?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"