By Afaf Azouni
My heart aches today.
And I try to find the poetry in the pain,
but the vowels never quite add up,
and I’m still left with bleeding fingers
and a heart, like a compass, pointing East,
always pointing East.
Dear so-and-so,
I’m sorry about that hurt.
I wish I could say there was a remedy for sadness
but science has only gone far enough to cause it,
and I fear that people will forget what the world
was like in its’ absence.
Dear so-and-so,
your heart is a fist inside of you,
and it belongs to your country–
you were born ready to survive,
don’t give up on us now.
Dear so-and-so,
when a man in the streets tells you to go back home,
don’t give him one finger;
give him two–
wave your peace sign in the crowded New York air,
until people forget what the city felt like without it.
Dear so-and-so,
remember that bad things come in threes,
but so do good things– that no matter
how much you think tomorrow will never come,
you will always wake up to sun-kissed good-mornings,
from all the people the sun met on its’ way back to you.
Dear so-and-so,
when a presidential candidate tells you
to wear a badge to identify yourself,
don’t fight it.
Grab your girl-scout sash, grab your boy-scout vest,
make it a scrapbook of your life, and
wear it like the North star.
Dear so-and-so,
no matter what they tell you; never forget Allah.
No matter what they tell you; never forget yourself.
Wear your Islam like a birthmark, or a dimple,
but never as a scar.
Remind the world that it is a part of you;
it has always been there, and it will never fade.
Dear so-and-so,
my heart aches, but so does yours,
and while all we have to show for it
are these bleeding fists, our home
in Jannah calls our name.
