Being a Muslim woman
there is no room for error;
there is only urgency
as the blaring of red and blue sirens
seems to replace
the Trumpet of Gabriel.
The world is on fire
so I stand on the brink
of today and tomorrow
to scatter yesterday’s ashes,
and give birth to hope.
The world spins,
so I make a life for myself
in the margin
in-between the spaces that overlap.
I balance myself
on this tight-rope
hanging in mid-air,
anchored by nothing.
The world watches,
holding its breath
as I walk the line.
Meanwhile,
The air that I breathe
is full of history
and the sooty residue
of bloated,
well-dressed men
giving birth to war.
So I set foot,
to find a new home
on the outskirts
just along a bridge
that borders where our worlds meet.
Until we face each other
and collide;
and inside of this
cataclysm
is the energy;
the untapped reserve.
After our countless battles,
The dust settles
and we try to recover
to pick up the pieces,
to build anew.
I know all too well
that when I close my eyes
the world will not disappear.
Are you aware
that when you close your eyes
I will not fade away?
Or cease to exist
like a disembodied ghost,
a soul without a home
a trace of me
will always linger,
just as the eternal smoke
of a world on fire
hesitates in the air
until the spinning of time
is stopped.
It may be my fate
to keep the world awake
so no longer will I rest
as a sleeping landscape.
Because the skin I live in
itches with urgency
as my voice reaches out,
and refuses to stay silent.
A Poem by:
Saima Shamsi
Email: [email protected]
Website: saimashamsi.com
My LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/saima-shamsi-9a503b17