Loser of the lost,
Our false sanctuary is lost.
Once a tranquil garden,
Today we go debris picking.
Sifting through the wreckage in a so-called land of hope,
We, the self-exiled,
We hardly ever unpack our bags.
Natural shapeshifters, like the young survivalists we are,
Code-switchers, temporarily easier on the ears.
We stopped turning towards vacant thrones for answers,
All we had was our insufficient self-tutelage,
Against the universe’s surprise exams.
We’ll find ourselves gasping for air,
Away from our sinking ships
Criers separated from their lips,
But we’ve already seen Chaos’s creepy smile,
And chaos’s future cameos won’t shock people like “us” as much,
Nor will we embrace chaos as our perpetual norm.
Mirvat Manal is a fiction writer and poet. Her work has been published in The Leon Literary Review, Maudlin House and The Cabinet of Heed. Mirvat has also been included in Best New British & Irish Poets Anthology 2021.