written by: Isa Sa’ada Yahaya
My home is a burning body,
embodied in a chest.
In this land,
darkness is a dialect every tongue raps.
My home requests walls raped by bullets,
painted with pigment reeking of losses, of ripped limbs, of grieving thighs.
In my home,
In another language, my mother calls me a murderer.
To a body reeking of thirst,
A brand new dawn awaits you.
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