Ode to the Familiar Strangers

Yara Tawk

Like a wave crashing down on shore to then melt back into the ocean, I wonder if I too must break to recollect myself in my mother's embrace.

Do droplets of rain miss being a wave?

Will I ever miss being her child?

Where does an unstoppable river go once every ocean has run dry?

And what of the lake with no mother to run to, what of the waterfall with no arms to fall back into?

Can they call the ocean anything but a stranger?

Their beginning perhaps, but not their future.

Can I be one's child and yet my own person, a freshwater lake and still of the ocean?

I was born into the world as a stranger's crafted goods, a sweet summer tree's sweet summer fruit; yet I feel like a lemon in a vineyard, a sour flavor that smells of winter, and I love my self of citrus and fire, but I wonder if my mother would recognise this stranger.

More from Yara Tawk ↓

• @yara._.writes on Instagram
• Her book, Periwinkle Sunsets, is out now