FREEDOM MADE SINFUL

Made of clay and dust, feed me to the trees,
a willing participant of death.
Let my rot produce olives and pomegranate seeds.
Bury my soul in the mud under my home.
All vision deceives
as I watch the lightning break.
The rats and cockroaches feast on me,
how lucky they are to eat.
Bury me in city streets,
let the cats gnaw at my bones.
When they die and decompose
they'll grow to poppies proud.

The child knows no peace or rest,
her first word heard liberate.
The elder knows no peace or home,
choking on the key to his garden gate.
Made of clay and dust, feed me to the land,
owning nothing of value or praise.
Paint my body red and green,
bathe the dead in the blood of their peers.
I am clay and dust, not fire or air,
yet from ashes I rise, fuelled by dispair.

Made of clay and earth, I grow from trees.
Chew my skin like pomegranate seeds.
I pluck out my nails and bite down on stubs.
Drink my blood like poison
venomous, gurgle on my composition.
Made of clay and earth, I rise.

Press me down until I pop and cook me into a soup.
Sit me down and feed me my liver, gnaw on my bones, then chew.
I stick in my teeth until I die
and endless, I shall live.

Grate my skin into cheese and bake me on bread for lost souls to feed.
Watch how I bubble, in the oven, I melt.
Stretch me thin enough to dissolve on their tongues.

Made of clay and dirt, I rise.
I rise.

Made of earth, I am, I am.

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Zeinab Fakih, mid-twenties, between the realms ✯ IG: @thoughtsbyzeinab & TT: @zeinabjfakih ✯ BACK TO POETRY: OUROBOROS

“Zeinab Fakih is a Lebanese-Canadian author and poet. She has written two poetry collections titled I Didn't Know How to Say This. So, I Wrote It Down and Sweet Tea and Ketamine. Recently published in Literaria Magazine, Open Minds Quarterly, and Sidedoor Magazine, Fakih aims to explore themes of identity and the human experience.”