The Warrior Sings
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About this ebook
Michelle Dosanjh-Johal
Michelle Dosanjh-Johal is a special education teacher, wife, and mother to children with autism and Mosaic Turner syndrome. The challenges navigated with her children's diagnoses, including her daughter's open heart surgery, led her back to writing poetry as an agent of healing and self love. Her poetry, seen as a call for hope and healing, can also be found on her Instagram page @mindful.warriors.way. She's a Golden Key Honor recipient at Simon Fraser University.
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Book preview
The Warrior Sings - Michelle Dosanjh-Johal
Songs of Strength
The Warrior Sings
The most beautiful song
echoed in the wintry halls
of the prison
calling attention
to the Angel
in the cold cell,
his wings chained
and bleeding.
You fool,
said the prison guard,
"you are cold,
and decrepit, and a
fraction of your former self.
Your wings are chained and bleeding.
Why do you sing?"
The Angel merely smiled
and said, because, in Love I rise.
So he sang once again,
and the tune echoed
through the wintry hilltops
and barren land
where hope had been lost . . .
A nomad heard it
and came to the cell window.
He saw the chained Angel
and said, "Fool, you are
worse off than me.
Why do you sing?"
"Because, my darling,
in Love I rise."
Days passed
and the Angel continued
to sing.
One day, the prison guard
brought his little girl
and told her to stay put.
Of course, this little girl
seldom did as she was told.
She stole a set of keys and
went exploring when she heard
the most glorious of songs.
She followed the song to the cell
with the Angel.
She opened the cell,
and was overwhelmed with joy and love.
She kissed the Angel on the forehead,
unlocked his chains,
and said I love you . . .
And the Angel smiled, and rose.
Surrender
In sorrow, she danced with suffering,
slowly to a savage tune.
Painful pirouettes of pity,
maniacal melodies beneath the moon.
Dancing in the darkened alley,
screaming songs to feed the beast,
kissing suffering’s savage lips,
pensively praying for a priest.
Prayers falling upon deaf ears,
suffering silently slits her throat,
bleeding upon the blazing flames,
until there was nothing left to emote.
Her and suffering had become one,
she wore suffering as her skin,
fleshly pains were all but done,
fleshly pleasures were but remiss . . .
The flames no longer could touch her flesh,
they had already devoured everything,
the blood had drained, every ounce . . .
now she rose with darkened wings.
Now she danced a different tune,
whilst others watched and all but wondered,
whispering, wondering, curiously chattering
about this glorious spell that she was under.
Metamorphosis is magic
when darkness merges with the light . . .
rising, rising, our daunting dancer
surrendered serenely to the fight.
Wildest of Storms
If you can sing and dance
in the wildest of storms . . .
If you can love yourself
when darkness is born,
If you can laugh at the night
because you see the stars . . .
Darling, that is just
what you are.
If you can hold yourself
while on your knees,
With salted tears
and bloody pleas.
If your screams can echo
like music in the night,
Darling, I promise . . .
you’ll be alright.
So sing, and laugh,
and dance in the storm . . .
So cry, and scream, let your
soul be reborn.
For without the darkness,
stars can’t exist . . .
And without love . . .
life is amiss.
Kiss Freedom
Live like your life
is on the line.
Be a
renegade.
Dare
to walk out of the lines.
Dare
to draw your own.
Dare
to live
your own kind of truth.
Fuck their gossip.
Be you anyway.
Love like it’s air,
Laugh like the joke
is never ending,
Dance like
it’s your last dance.
Hold his hand,
or hers . . .
Let your heart crack
if it lets the light in.
Wear your hair down
and unleash
the wild in your soul.
Burn and
kiss freedom.
Gypsy Dancer
She sings a symphony of somber songs,
a chorus of chaotic screams . . .
She whispers serene promises
amidst the mystery of a dream . . .
Curiosity will confuse her night,
morning dew drips from her breath.
Alas, the river flows into emptiness,
another day that feels like death.
She’s riding the waves of oblivion
consumed by flames of chaos,
searching, searching, a gypsy dancer,
opening multiple locks . . .
Exploring the darkest of terrains,
and never finding answers . . .
For the very essence of what she searches
is inside this gypsy dancer . . .
Inside the heart of sorrows,
where time no longer flows,
humanity meets divinity
suffering, it slows.
Inside the whispers of the soul
where solace makes a sound . . .
You will find your answers here,
where hope and love are found.
Kissing the Light
Escape into the abyss of freedom,
surrender the perils of night . . .
Sliced by shards of suffering,
souls prepare to take flight . . .
Feed off the scarcest crumbs