Month: January 2016

City, a burnt ship

Inhaling smoke

maktab, a broken truck

where children

make their desks

from stones.

Mamosta upset

Friend, fingers dipped in soot,

draws on cardboard windows

the moaning paintings

on the wall

ask me to run

as far as I can.                           Sarwa      January 2016

 

 

I grew up in this land

with my folks

who gave me a shelter

with no windows

when I feel insecure

I have to wear

an honor-proof vest

which cannot shield me

from bullets they put

into my chest

In this land

I have to be a genie

they throw their evil seeds

into me

and expect love to grow.

Here, in this land

my folks tell me

that I misunderstand

the language I learnt

from my past

so I have to learn

the hard away

that

my “heart” is like a “feather”

if I don’t hold it tight

I might lose it forever.

Sarwa A  January 2016

You don’t have to be

a palmist

to portray the days

that I’ll be through,

or count

the misfortunes

that I have to eschew.

Inside my hands

I have palette

where I keep

the shades

of

my past residue,

the fears and tears

that left outgrew.

I blend them all

to paint the dream

that I’ve always

wanted to pursue.

By Sarwa