After turbulence and thunder at sea,
The captain lets go of the ship —
trusting the waves,
he leaves it as is.
I too, stop paddling.
I too, stop rowing.
The storm begins to hush.
And I, at last, rely on fate.
The journey I started —
now, where I go,
I leave to the waves.
Wherever they take me,
whenever they do,
I surrender this war within.
I leave the grounds.
No longer a why,
nor a when, what, or how.
Not even a whom,
not even a who.
The companions Allah writes for me —
I receive with quiet gratitude.
I still wish to meet His people —
a meeting so elegant.
But for now,
I bow to this surrender.
I set down the bag —
once brimming with want,
and wishes spun wild.
The standards I held —
of myself, of others,
lie scattered.
I have fallen to my knees,
my last reserve drained.
Now I look up —
eyes rubbed against the ground.
What I have.
Where I am.
The people, the time, the energy,
the life within this life —
I accept, fully.
I have cried enough —
a sea of tears long dried.
I have left the thinking
that once burdened
my little existence.
I comply.
I stand defeated.
I surrender.
I leave this battlefield.
I have fought enough.
The sparrow wishing to be eagle,
the cat aching to be lion —
an illusion.
I leave it at the door.
What I am — firefly.
I accept, though dejected.
This worry of tomorrow,
this arming of self
with perfect tools —
I lay it all down.
I will not add more.
It will not matter.
This war within —
a tug of all perfection.
Life — a wonder,
a symphony of fragile purpose.
Usefulness — a melody.
Writing — an ode of power.
Yet I stand,
useless,
powerless.
Bare, empty, robbed, tired, alone.
Needless to say —
I stand still.
One foot before the other, I gather.
One day after the next, I focus.
Realigning.
Recalibrating.
My life in particular.
I leave the steering.
The waves choose where I go.
The shore is still out of sight.
The ship never halts.
So I move — as I must.
Taking hold once broke me.
Letting go — I expect nothing.
I see the horizon — glowing.
Destination no longer on my mind.
With a heart emptied,
I glide.
— Rafia Shakeel
