In caverns, shades, the cascades of grief,
The familial winds blow fierce.
From the same seeds and cavity, we split
In the slightest whispers, the deepest depths.
Tinted by the language of tears,
The tribe divides again.
Another day, another fire, another hope is born.
Rooted in the family tree, I ponder my place and allegience to it.
There are endless ruts of great majesty in the emotional tides of being an Urdang,
Rather late in the day, I stand, determined to avoid the distortion of being right over being happy.
And look beyond the island of self, toward the horizon of humanity.
What stares back is a glorious mess; seasons and people coming and going faster than a sigh.
As my mother would say, ‘Such is life.’