The Wise Mother

Declare Yourself

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Tasmiah by Fawaz

I AM this old void.
Or am I an old fable?
I AM this one intelligence.
Or am I an old, sinister witch?

The deep sink in the hole of wholeness.
I weave my golden threads in my wheel of choice.
Are they stories?
Are they lives?
Are they simply an old memory of my grandmother’s time?

Why create any more of me?
Isn’t being a void mother enough of me?

Oh, you say, old woman.
Wiser, she thinks.
My sincere child,
I AM the grand grandmother
of the void’s primordial mind.

The foundation of creation is fluid. Like the age- old question—did the chicken come from the egg, or the egg from the chicken? Did creation create me, or did I create the idea of creation? Or perhaps it's all ouroboric—one feeding into the other, endlessly becoming.

April, 2025

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