“قمرة يا قمرة لا تطلعي ع الشجرة”
“O moon, o moon, don’t climb up the tree”
My mother would sing to me
But curiosity bested me
So instead I dug
And rich was the soil that nourished my roots
Oh the lies they told
Betrayal is the coldest enemy
Of my land
Is it my land?
For I am afraid she has forgotten me before our meeting
Patience will not un-occupy my soul of its yearning
My identity occludes me, waging a forever war
A bullet in my heart.
Violently still; but I would not dare wish it away
Call me crazy
For this pain is but a necessary visitor
Whispering reminders of our post-colonial circumstances
I climbed the tree, mother;
And I can’t get down
