Poems written in reflection of life’s power; in awe of beauty and in sadness of it. Reminiscing about times that never existed yet are so alive. Feeling disconnected from life that was, indeed, very real. These are intimate, meditative works that are meant to wash over you the way life does when you are at its center and have no control over it. --Khadeja transformation meditation air skimming across the dew launches it off the blade of grass it’s new role: ground’s fuel. a dew’s descent is a millisecond of velocity dropping, unheard whistling to the tiniest of ears yet a vibration well felt. --- an observation it may be beautiful, but it may not be yours. this is an observation of mothers by one who could be one but made the other choice. to watch emergent life is to watch a known, and yet unknown. it is watching the new life pushing out an orifice, or cracking a shell, even growing out of soil. power, awe, and disgust all spark at once. so dangerous is the forcing of birth, so oblivious are we to the workings, that our breaths rebel against our lungs. our minds rebel against ourselves. and all the while, people are still doing it—giving birth. creation is divine. the child is always being waited for. outside our Mother tends, if not the sweaty, warmth of humanity in one of the other forms: the Earth, the egg-warmer, the web-weaver, or the Queen, so many forms… all of them the same. protecting by fighting until the bursting against nature, time, enemies, and luck. perilous is this endless battle, helpless are we to stop it. hopeless because we don’t want to. we can only learn how to despair accordingly. learn, learn, learn. while teaching! and reveling! what a mess! and then we cannot deny, there is nothing more beautiful than being alive to watch a seed turned to stalk. a moment--an appreciation of the mother’s choice. the choice of motherhood itself, the choice of glorious pain, screeching music, thankless accomplishment, sunshine with moonlight, and underneath it all – a pull that never stops. I sit here, a loving stone, in place. Bio: Khadeja Ali is a Mauritian poet writing out of Massachusetts.