Photo by Ahmad Odeh on Unsplash

Let me tell you about the human soul.

This I do wholeheartedly believe:

every human being has an immortal soul.

It carries karma. It extends beyond physics.

It is intrinsically complete. It is complex,

multi-faceted, and personal. It has the

nature of a being; however, it is

shapeless and androgynous. There are options

between life and ‘death’ to be discussed later.

Souls can group together, combine

themselves, or live in isolation. Souls can be

damaged and healed, often influencing each other

to an extent that can fall away.

Souls are not dependent upon environment,

but often fall to each other’s influence

to an extent that can fall away.

It is the job of the soul to grow as long

as it has an existence. It is the job of the

soul to live within itself, for itself. This is a

conviction that sometimes forces us to

examine our own lives. I remember a few years back,

just one time of multiple incidences

when this has happened to me. It was right after

I was hit by a car. I remember through the haze everything

being normal, and then I saw the headlights

and my legs knew their lives were about

to be changed forever. One instant remaining-

the whole world went white. I’ve seen it in moves,

the glow from arches when it’s time

for someone’s soul to abandon the body,

but there were no arches. In fact, it was barely passable

as a 3D space — the plane I was on had distant

horizon lines but the space hurtled with fluid

movement that remained still only in

retrospective memory. It was, apparently,

a white light I can only describe as full.

The car struck me, continued on,

retraced its steps to swear me it

for occluding the smooth path of its evening

voyage, screeched indignantly on

its way, and draped a blanket of cold

forest over my face. My weighted body

remained there I do not know how long.

I imagine a line of stones tracing my chakras

fresh from Ms. Marple’s garden.

There was peace and then it began.

The angel appeared to me,

kneeling on the stiff left fingernails,

for once in their life painted

flakingly glittery blue. She noticed me

standing opposite her, gave me the smile

that makes me cry every time I think

about it. My angel. Are you ready? she asked.

How was I to know if I was ready?

I had my mind on other things-

how is this possible, I demanded,

you can’t be here, you’re dead.

I’m not dead, she explained, you are.

Most times I have been known to

flash my eyes open, soul reglued

to the brain. This time I did not.

The angel and I stayed together while

strange things happened to the body

on the street (this is what has been

described on several occasions as a

seizure-like event). I recall a bed of

leaves. I recall a brink of snow. No,

I have no reason that would tell you

I wasn’t having the same old hallucination.

My soul did not care to take a selfie

with the body, did not leave any

tangible clues. No evidentialist

would read without a scoff a fully

detailed account of my soul’s life.

I ask you to read a poem anyway.

Holy Ground

Photo by Svetlana Pochatun on Unsplash

A tree that grows with a strand of candle flame trapped inside it.

A candid cloud lurking in languid color.

This is the nature of a true being, a creature fully layered —

Dressed to the nines in complexities not expensive fabrics.

Made of the matter jewels mimic, a soul lives in every one of us.

The soul is a spiritual essence beyond what can be known,

But it is all we can know. When it is liberated from the guise of mortality,

And the question comes down, what does the soul truly need?

Is it time to pass through the worldly tunnel into whatever awaits,

Is it time to linger, a constant unknown but perhaps a presence felt,

Is it time to pursue some individual vengeance,

Is it time to take a new form and start a new life?

The truth ingrained in me from birth, the milk that nourished me,

This truth tells me that the soul is a universal power,

Be it designed by the hands of a mightier creator or formed in natural matter.

The soul is a creature that is visible to only itself

And tangible to all but itself.

And the soul is the song lended to a single voice.

Photo by Ahmad Odeh on Unsplash

Thanks for reading this poem about a personal belief of mine that all human beings have a soul.

For more like this, see my last poems here:


I write poetry, prose, and personal pieces. All images are mine unless indicated otherwise. Feel free to leave feedback on my work anytime; I hope you enjoy.

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