Praying For Peace In A Violent World by BellaKentuky

Don’t judge what you see. Don’t see me like this.

I tired of dying my skin a thousand shades of earth. I’ve tired of being
a million shades of people. What you see now above my robe is the last
color I stained myself, the color of ivory and porcelain. I was cinnamon
and spice before, and before that I was nutmeg and cocoa, and before that
still I was goldenrod and honey. I’ve tired of speaking a thousand tongues
of man. If these lips open, I know not what garbled language they’ll spew,
for I’ve spoken in so many accents that I have forgotten the dialect of
birth—what was my motherland again?

My eyes have been bleached of their color, my hair has forgotten its
texture, my ears are ringing with the memory of the sounds and lives
of so many nations. For years I’ve scouted the earth in as many guises
as there are cultures, trying to spread the peace and prayer. I’ve nearly
given up now, for although I may not look it, I am old. I am many, many
centuries old, and I have tired of my age. At last it’s catching up to me.

I sought my motherland to lay my body to rest, but I could not find it, for

it has changed too much in the passing of the years. It does not matter,
really. The world is my shelter, and it no longer matters where I’ve begun
and where I end up. I will leave as I came, praying for peace in a violent
world. A world that takes no heed, no pause, no pride in its compassion.
I’m ready to spread my wings and strip off the last of these guises: this
body. My work is done here, and my energy spent.

It is time for another to fall to the earth and take my place.

~Angreek87