A night poem
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my eyes can barely take the weight of sleep
now
now that you are wording sentences on wars
and those who are left behind, those who are left on foot
running,
hiding,
dying, dying for real –
i am trying to ration my poetry
for you and i:
because
i dared to memorise the glow of the sun
by staring straight at it in the morning –
all by myself, alone,
while capturing an image of the clear blue sky; clouds softly formed
like your years-ago fingers on my face; as you slept a little –
somewhere else you call home, maybe.
some days i make do with the memory
to breathe, unaware
because
because my everyday
contains the images of
faraway wars too
and the wars we both share:
wars so close to our eyes, blinding, blindingly tucked in our skins;
wars of desperate stomachs, fearful hands and legs clinging on to
whatever helps to survive a day
because my everyday
contains images of the skeleton of a city
which gets fleshed by
faceless people – sweating, grating their spines –
just to be burned alive.
Rifat Islam Esha is a poet. For more updates on her work, you can follow her on Instagram: @rifatiesha.
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