that you’ll regret later
This life is too short
to feel out of sorts
I love you
For Allah’s sake, it’s true
"There’s a war going on here",
as she placed her palm on her left chest.
Sedang Allah beri
Jalan yang sebegitu
Penghujungnya lebih indah
Africa: Water or bread?
Syria: Living or death?
In 1997, I was born in a whisper of a village in Port Sudan,
my mother’s prophecy fanning my face: she will be the one to save Sudan.
Daughter of this balad, born with the Asr prayer,
her blood is laced in the raging waters of Sudan.
When I was 13, I buried my heart in its sands
allowed its roots to wind around my blood vessels, Sudan,
you are a time-stamp in my memories.
I taste you in the empty cups of tea scattered on my balcony, Sudan.
You are the sandalwood wafting in the corridors of my eight story building,
I cannot remember the last time I cried out your name, Sudan.
I cannot say your name without sand cutting at my vocal chords. Dalia
still rings with your presence. I am a flower, whose petals blooms everywhere, even in Sudan.