Layers: A Self-Portrait

By Wendy Díaz

In the name of Ar Rahman, Ar Raheem

History:

A divine message in a bottle floating from the Red Sea to the Mediterranean,

Finding its way to three continents.

Fueling faith and revolutions through divine revelation,

For ancestors on both sides of right and wrong intertwined in a fight for the love of the Creator.

The One true God.

Across the Atlantic Ocean a New World stood still,

Civilizations that lived and thrived waited.

For something they did not know was coming,

A calm before the storm.

Conquerors coming home.

Home:

Bones wrapped in flesh, shaped by Allah,

Destiny written by angels.

Born in Guayama, Puerto Rico, raised in a town called Salinas,

Named after mountains of salt deposited on a sandy beach.

Pearl of the seas, formed in an island nestled in the warm Caribbean.

This soul stemmed from coconut palms that pull away with hurricane winds,

Yet manage to stay grounded.

In love with the flamboyan trees,

Whose blood-stained flowers wave her back.

And whisper, “Home is here where you were made, under the shade of mango trees.”

Where Granada’s pomegranate shrubs found their place,

Fruit like the hearts of our ancestors, spilling their blood on our lips to remind us of our past.

Seeds growing in a foreign land and making it their own,

But still yearning for home.

A home that is there.

Evolution:

Daydreams of my old home: a white cement house with my brother and our two hamsters,

Where we chased lizards and butterflies.

And my grandmother’s wooden house on stilts painted in yellow and green,

Where chickens cackled and hid their eggs,

And roosters danced to impress.

Where mamá abuela would cross the batey to let the pigeons out of their coop,

And turn back to hang clean hand-washed laundry to dry.

The flock would fly away and wander throughout the day,

Always making their way back home at sunset.

For her to let them in and close their door again. Welcome back.

“Bunnies are not supposed to be blue,”

Said the white boy in kindergarten, shaking me awake.

An introduction to my new life, Welcome to America,

Nothing you do here will ever feel quite right.

Americans are not supposed to be Puerto Ricans.

My five-year-old self hurt,

But I since learned that art has no limitations. 

That was the day that my existence became an act of defiance.    

As if the boy had really said, “I dare you to be yourself,”

And my response was, “Watch me.”

I am not happy to be here any more than you are happy to have me,

The more people try to put me on mute, the louder the volume gets.

Everything I do is a form of resistance,

And that is how I became a poet.

But writing without rhyme is hard for someone who considers life a song on repeat.

Now:

I can’t write like this,

With anxiety paralyzing my fingertips.

You ask me to put pen to paper and that I become one with my Maker,

But my thoughts are all over the place.

This is supposed to be a sacred safe space,

Yet where is security in this day and age?

When we can be judged for what we think and what we say,

It is easier to stay quiet and go astray.

If we don’t agree with the status quo,

Then our status goes to… well, you know.

I’m feeling so lost even though I’m found,

Searching for like-minded people but they are not around.

Allah’s rope is my harness as I explore the abyss that is,

Living in a society shaped by evil men’s whims.

I see nothing but darkness as I go on,

People trying to find their way blindfolded as they walk along.

We are blind in a mine looking for gold,

About to be buried underneath its blistering cold.

I try to make my way back pulling on the cord.

This world is the matrix but I am connected to my Lord.

My hands reach out to feel if my loved ones are close,

Keeping them guided is what I want most.

I look for my community but in my ideas I feel alone.

Time, the more we try to hang on to it, the faster it goes.

Prayers up to Allah to have mercy on our souls.

Ya Rahman, ya Raheem, have mercy on our souls.

I am biting my tongue always since 9/11,

Raw emotions fueling me on my path to Heaven.

I brought my children from the womb to a war zone,

Outcasts and refugees trying to find our way home.

I try to hold things together,

Among the incessant storms we must weather.

I am barricading tears to keep the world from flooding,

Putting my trust in the One who created it from nothing. 

Now I find myself back where I began,

With my soul clinging to the rope and a pen in my hand.

Writing the pieces of my life in blue – my legacy to man,

Hoping to stand the test of time in both lands.

I am promised eternity in the Hereafter,

Need to leave my deposit for the Paradise I am after.

The vacation I have been planning for finally,

Where I can laugh out loud or reflect silently.

I am saving up for the trip with the treasures I have found,

Digging in the mines with my people underground.

While tethered to the rope of our faith,

Hoping it does not snap with the heaviness of my weight.

The burden that I carry and keep adding to,

Or the things that I am holding onto that I cannot undo.

Demons I am battling,

Layers of me unraveling

Oh Lord, Merciful One, make me steadfast,

Tighten my grip and make my strength last.

Ameen.