The Cleansing of the Soul

The Cleansing of the Soul

I was wrung out in the wash
I was hung out to dry
While flapping in the wind
My soul began to fly.
No matter how wet I get
Or how I’m pushed or spun
No matter how twisted I get
My life will not be done.
My outer cloth
Can be destroyed
Or shredded into pieces
It can be folded, torn or broken
But my soul, it never ceases
To Be – to try –
So will I fly
To my home
To wait and rest,
Reflect and set
My sights on a new home,
A body strong, a life anew.
A little baby cries.
A happy mama sighs.
Ah! now I know
The ‘whys.’

– Devaki Grouix.

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