Saturday, 18th. My Beloved I.
The first time I came to you I was met with dust,
so thick that I could barely see my hands.
And all I heard were faint cries of pain and help,
which I could not offer you.
The first time I came to you
I saw the pain you carried on those shoulders since you came to be.
And all I could envision was the fractured bones and broken ribs
and the broken spine
and the bruised lips,
you had to endure.
The first time I came to you, you spoke in broken English,
which cut your insides with every syllable uttered
as if your tongue was made of glass –
because I did not understand you the way you desired me to.
And all I saw was the blurred streets
as my glands could not keep the tears from falling.
The first time I came to you I felt like I was not accepted for I was neither you or them;
as I did not speak like you or them;
as I did not behave like you or them.
And all that came to mind was the feeling of pain
from a thousand needles slowly kissing the pores I left open for you.
I swallowed the years I had not seen you
THURSDAY, 23RD. MY BELOVED II.
Oh, you who screamed until the sun had waned, come back.
Oh, you who played without care until the sun had waned, come back.
Oh, you who protected your brother until the sun had waned, come back.
Oh, you who helped your sister, until the sun had waned, come back.
I will not pay heed to the screaming and fighting, the bickering and crying,
and I will not ask you to be quiet.
I will not ask you to halt your plays so that I can sleep.
Play until you cannot move a limb,
scream until your voice disappears
and bicker amongst yourselves until you cannot find a fault.
Oh, you who felt scorned, come back.
Oh, you who heard words that should not have been spoken, come back.
Oh, you who was left behind, come back.
I speak to the moon everyday to let him know of my wishes.
He knows all that my heart feels, and all that my mind thinks.
He knows of the pain I feel knowing you have left,
and he knows of the sadness that lies in my heart.
Oh, you who was hit by the crane, come back.
Oh, you who gave up because of our selfishness, come back.
Your disappearance left us yearning for the warmth of your touch.
And the delicate voice that is on the verge of breaking.
I am asking you to come back though I do not know if my words will fall onto deaf ears.
Oh, you who the sun waits for, come back –
because she will not wane until she hears your laughter again.
TEXT: ALI MERZA