WHOLE
hung, heartily, hungry, and hunger
the hollowness echoes each time the H is hummed, hammered, and halved.
A haunted house.
one on top with the other also on top of the same cusp
it comes as no surprise that I want myself alive while seeking the death of me, stupefied
i admit that my spirit’s carnality equals that of the world
i also admit that in my awakening are born the crevices of my demise
imagine a field,
blank, rotting, not yet rotten
no sheep, no green but a cross with me on each extremity.
imagine the gods laughing, weeping, and lusting
over my beautiful dead body, hairy as it might be, pure as it may seem
touch it and you might be granted eternal hell
eat it and you might make it out alive
the gods, as I was saying, are nearly as human as me
the vicariousness of their sticky gazes upon the meek is but a gateway for thee
the withered flower with a crown of fear
from time and its monsters
the return of the tricky unseen
see, I was told that the spleen resides where the eye can see
i was told that I can conquer my lover’s disease
revoking the past, half-heartily, half-hung, and slightly hungry.
I have learnt that to be alive is to consume death.
obsessively.
I have become both.
two-folded.
I covet.
Firdaous Naim, 24, Rabat - Morocco ✯ IG: @blobbiish / firdaous2302@gmail.com ✯ BACK TO POETRY: OUROBOROS
“Firdaous Naim is a poetic soul whose verses dance between the shadows of introspection and the ambivalence of raw emotion. With a heart enamored by the existence of language, Firdaous’s poetry unearths the delicate nuances of life and the ever-changing landscapes of the mundane. Her words, like tendrils of ivy, weave through moments of quiet contemplation and bursts of cathartic revelation. A seeker of beauty in the grotesque, Firdaous’s work invites readers to pause, breathe, scream or sob (if necessary), and find solace in the rhythm of the written word.”