I saw you standing by the door
as I swayed and rocked on the dance floor.
The music was familiar, I could follow
the rhythm, the melody;
it seemed to be the missing part of me--
my unspoken sorrow, and sexuality.

You seemed immature. I didn’t try to understand
what you were saying. Your offered hand,
I rejected.  
I thought you were adolescent, smirky
trying to shock, pretending to be *****.
It didn’t make me feel like being flirty.
In fact, you reminded me
of everything I despised.
I couldn’t see the pain in your eyes
or peel away the lies
to hear the truth that you were saying.

A few decades later, here we are.
I’ve now found myself hitched to your star.
Do I now understand who you are–
or did you change--
older, wiser, the pretense gone?

I”m so sorry to arrive at this party so late.
Forgive me–
I was blind,
I was deaf,
I needed someone to hate.

My love, my guiding light,
shield me from the horrors
of this mortal world's blight--
the sorrow, and the pain,
and blood running into rivers
like rain.
I close my eyes and curse my sight.
But as I turn to you, your image
blocks out the deepening night.
I imagine your hand, your fingers touching mine
(though you will never be mine). With you,
I am home. I walk through the night
to where it is always day; I shall never be alone.

I'm a dead person living in shambles,
The ever so tempting urge to disappear,
Is beckoning me from the corridor,
Smelling of easy success.
It's lips like candied cotton,
Eyes of care and warmth,
It's whispers all I've ever wanted to hear,
And promises me that I, too, can dream,
Regardless, it will follow me.

Run... run while you can
before the envelopment entraps you
encapsulating escape with leaden clouds
skies darkened by searing missiles
unburdening caches waiting
for the stirring of conflict
so easy to hijack
as hatred
screams
loudest
drowning
out the pleas
of nursing mothers
as children's faces fend off
old feuds and avarice of arms dealers

I still remember
the night of the living dead
a tempestuous night
when we should’ve stayed inside
the weight of “beloved” stones up on our heads

I heard stories about
vengeful deceased
coming back to life
but if we’re full of hatred
why are we laying side by side?

I buried you
you buried me
but now we are just deteriorating
rotting flesh wandering around
when we should’ve rested in peace

Just take a good look at me;
My frame is attractive!
It does the unsated
appetite of the chauvinist
fuel.
My curves and your fantasies
are mutually inclusive!
Without them, dreams
are truncated.
But I am an *******
symbol.
The self opinionated chauvinist
designs me in his sub-conscious
to serve and be utterly subservient.
I am incarcerated as a chef,
and timeless baby sitter.
A baby machine for a
patriarchal dynasty.
My education is a threat to chauvinist ego.
My ignorance hones his misogynist confidence,
whilst my erudite head
retards his self esteem and worth.
The illiterate ******* symbol is his
ideal and virtuous woman.
The smarter and more professional
is the age-old Jezebel.
My chastity and virginity
are twin virtues of a
mutilated genitalia.
My restrained *** urges are
designed for his unrestrained
proclivities and gratification.
I must be restrained,
for him to be unrestrained,
because, share him I must
with two or three others of
my kind.
But take another good look at me,
and see a versatile womb-man!
Translate each prejudice of yours'
and see my remarkable antonyms.

Bombs go off in Gaza,
and here on the east coast,
the friendships I have nurtured for several years
are blown away in the air like ashes…

The earth is nebulated in a nightmare
flames of despair and anger,
consume the oxygen of hope…
And now, depleted,
my heart sunk in mourning,
I am thinking of words that I will say to my son
so that he can continue to believe
in the good of people.

Arshia.
12.10.23
#middleeastconflict #war #israelpalestineconflict