I’m yours, you’re mine.
I want to walk beside you, and you’re all mine.
We are growing up you and me.
I’m your daughter.
You called on me.
To participate in your complexity.
To toil, to play, to even play my turn.
So I did, laying low. Never making waves, content, eager all together.
Suddenly you forget I was there and I forgot rapidly too.
I shall be your sister,
I will not leave you, even if you abandon me for amplitude and ease.
Every day now you allow the diminished to dictate your fate.
That last moment you, loathed to look me in the eye for a thundering shame.
You’re my son,
I sing you a song. Your songs, as I swing you in your cradle.
Lulling with eyes that dazzle and never submit.
You shall be my city,
your ambivalence shred my sanity. Your rigor and vigor.
I will not give in, I will stand and scream.
In you, I find I’m still foreign and somehow I fear this.
I know I’m unruly and impulsive,
Dreamer and desolate.
I’m not attracted by the West,
for you still never notice my Eastern charm and my weathered desert wisdom.
You don’t know you need me, and I don’t know either.
I am riven with my love for you.
I am tired but I’m not afraid…
I’m a horse running in a field.
The moon will wane and I might still wonder.
For I’m a strong tree rooted in the ground under that moon waiting for the morning to sue.