I tried not to write this.
I tried so hard not to write this.
Denial of destruction
that daemon haunting me.
Denial of death
that devil on tv.
I tried so hard
but I’m writing this-
it’s coming from this womb-
giving birth
giving life
giving lives
still births
to this death.
I am giving in to this
giving up to this
I am being this.
I am this destruction.
I am this desperation
I am martyr
madwoman
made insane with rage
clenched between my knuckles and fingers
grinding teeth – bearing into a fist
slamming full force into freedom.
I will tear open the hours of time
between milliseconds and minutes
between milk and malt liquor
between barely alive and barzakh
between physics and broken psyches
between deciding to drown in God and martyrdom
I will tear open heaven for the floods of my family
as they flee from the 7imma of Hama into heaven with their himma in Him.
I am the body of my people-
torn apart
like rag doll
mostly rag
tossed out
like my people and our story-
where is the world
how are you watching
silent
as we fall through the strainer of this dictator straight into our graves,
being shaken out of life by a monster whose name would sear my tongue to say
They bury our bloodied bodies and when there is no more land to dig
they burn us deep into this living land.
We will not quiet down
we will not stand still.
even when burned to ash and smoke-
we will send signals into sky
prayers like gun powder in the power of The Powerful
we fight for honor
with God given valor
under this 3 starred banner
For the babies. their mothers.
my brothers.
my sisters.
my ancestors.
their spirits dwell inside me
inside this dimashqiya
and the road to damascus
is drowning in rubble and blood.
I will climb the shrapnel mountains
to be with you.
I will swim the blood channel to
stand among you.
I am with you
I am with you
I am you.
the victory of God is near.
I pray
may the victory of God be near
I don’t know how my belly can bear to swell with any more
adopted orphans…
Victory- come close
so I can whisper my prayer in your ear
hear me now
carry my Midani men in your heart
raise the dar3awi dream –
be Homs’s friend
be Hama’s healing
be Halab’s lover
hold Idlib high in hand
victory, carry our flag
I said-
my balad
my kabad.
I cringe each time one of us falls
a piece of my spirit ascends to heaven
with every cry of Allahu Akbar.
My soul is trying to leave my body
with the ascension of every one of the martyred.
My heart beats coincide with the last breath
of the martyred.
They are all dead or gone-
or dead and gone-
and so I volunteer as voice-
Pray for us. Pray.
We are with you. by you. in you. By God- we are you.
ma3akum. ma3akum. ma3akum. fiddinye walakhra.
ni7na ma3akum.
