He loaded his words into his tongue,
and shot his bullets
I took them standing, more from shock than from bravery
Imagined that only happened to Niqabis at public beaches, you see
I think of making a scene, orating my right to board a train and
walk around in a foreign land
But I abstain, for I know what happens when you pour gas on fire
while standing close
I could read it in his twitching lips
My Ochre skin seems to him like a dumpster of filth, an urban
ogre, dressed in a cape
Would've stripped to a thread to let them see that I carried no
belts
But what's the catch ? I am still a walking vice, in my
nakedness
I look at him in admiration: the privileged do have the strongest pride
in their nation
His flames burning so vehemently, when mine, for all my youth, never
lasted a state of mind
It's the same everywhere, isn't it ?
We have been marching on, stamping stereotypes on each other's foreheads
,defining turfs
Good, evil, brown, pale, pious, libertine, straight, gay, man, woman,
rich, poor, free, serf,
Somebody that mattered on this earth, nobody
You speak so profoundly of freedom and tolerance of diversity
When a human, that happens to be a black woman with a scarf on her
head can't wander in a city
Without feeling the urge to justify herself
Without feeling the need to purge her visible stigma of an existence
Your rage, blooming like a wild chrysanthemum
I can't tell if it grew from the seed of emptiness, or the pain of
loss
But you still have a place to call home, when I spent my
life running away from one
And I am tired, my good sir
One changes scenes, and one changes faces but it's still the same
, and I am tired
Of constantly having to alter my roots so I could bloom in stranger lands
Of having to morph my folds into shapes that no longer resemble me
so I could receive a few drops of rain
I wasn't hurt because I'm not a miserable wreck with a gun and
never been to a club
Not even because I think the essence of a woman's freedom is
choosing to cover her navel and cleavage without offending a stranger
Not because you make it sound like I never scrub
You didn't care to ask for my name; didn't even dare sit
next to me, so I could tell you why I mounted trains
Tell you all about what emptiness I fled, this chaos in a shell
My baggage of struggles that you threw out the window along with
my ticket to exist
When you glanced at a piece of fabric I threw on my head
But old man, with more white on his brows than light in his eyes
I got one question for you : Which train do people take to
reach at oblivion ?
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