Poetry by Farah Lawal Harris


you strain your voice, calling God incessantly.
if you spoke quietly, you would hear that he’s already
talking to you.
he operates rhythmically like your heartbeat,
coursing and consistent as the blood being pumped
throughout your whole system.
like oxygen in your lungs,
he is airy and light and moving,
waiting for the point when we are attentive
instead of missing him,
dismissing him
by choosing talking over listening,
picking ignorance, which is life threatening
and our own words,
which are deafening.


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