I said it wasn't my country,
so I watched her milks turn acids
her blood diluting her rivers of honey
and her tears washing off her own fertility.
I had no fear—
for it wasn't near.
I said it wasn't my tribe,
so I saw,
but pretended not to have even looked
I listened,
but pretended not to have even heard
Yet it was written on my every line;
they aren't of my kind.
I didn't care—
for it wasn't my tears.
I said it wasn't my religion,
so I turned my back
reciting from my scriptures
I have eyes, but had no vision.
I had no fear—
for of God, who dares?
It came for my country, but I wasn't near
It went for my tribe, but I wasn't there
It came for my religion, but I wasn't aware.
Now it has come for me,
but there's no one here.
By Abdulmalik Jibril
©2019
Jun 25, 2020
Jun 25, 2020 at 4:58 AM UTC
I said it wasn't my country,
so I watched her milks turn acids
her blood diluting her rivers of honey
and her tears washing off her own fertility.
I had no fear—
for it wasn't near.
I said it wasn't my tribe,
so I saw,
but pretended not to have even looked
I listened,
but pretended not to have even heard
Yet it was written on my every line;
they aren't of my kind.
I didn't care—
for it wasn't my tears.
I said it wasn't my religion,
so I turned my back
reciting from my scriptures
I have eyes, but had no vision.
I had no fear—
for of God, who dares?
It came for my country, but I wasn't near
It went for my tribe, but I wasn't there
It came for my religion, but I wasn't aware.
Now it has come for me,
but there's no one here.
By Abdulmalik Jibril
©2019
Request permission to use this poem