quarta-feira, 18 de setembro de 2019

Untitled






No matter the rush of undertow 
everything else is still 
here. I scrawl your name 
at the bottom of the river 
I sing it and it sings me 
back. What I’d give for a name 
so keen     it whittles 
the valleys of my neck. I’m forever drenched 
in this night, and you 
no longer exist. The river catches 
the sky’s black, ink 
meant to preserve a memory. I stay 
because it’s easy. Here. I relive 
what you did to me, find myself again 
in the water - swollen and sullen 
as a bruise. I trace 
and retrace, graffiti
every river’s bank, drown 
into ecstasy 

instead of moving on with my life. 
I wear what you did to me 
like gills, a new way to breathe. 
I jump into the river 
for days. I forget I have lungs at all.


Noor Ibn Najam




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