Writer's Instagram handle: @arsou.ia
O’Sudan, a land I have yet not learned to mourn
Simply learning how to float above
Yearning ashore
An everlasting yearning, oh land that carried my parents' tender youth
Their first steps
Their first words
Their first tears
Their first smiles
Outstretched hands
The land that expands over miles, I have yet to see or learn its streets
Filled with those I have yet to meet, not in this life but simply the next
Of songs unsung, clothes unhung, of images undrawn and hearts unstrung
Of prayers that echo within the night and stars that shine bright
And people who shine -
Of the moon and the remembrance of the one who shines even brighter
Much, much, much, much more handsome than any moon
They handed me a rock - and rubbed it against any garment in sight
Misk
They both said
“He smelled of musk”
Who I asked? They replied
Oh Rasool Allah, peace and blessings upon you...
I’ve come to miss you, Oh Beloved Prophet of Allah
It's been five years and the smell of that musk is still strong
Imagine the scent that has lasted for thousands of years
Of the sweetness of your worship at night?
Peace and blessings upon you
Peace and blessings upon you
Ya Ahlaal Bayt? Oh those of the home
I seek to knock on your door again
And sit in the home of my beloved
Embroidered in greens and blues of all hues
Hand me a glass of water and powdered juice
As I sit and admire the yellows and greens of your lemon tree
And ask me if the streets of Shendi appeal to me compared to the streets of a newer city
Ya Habooba Ya Mahbooba Inti Mahbooba
Oh My Grandmother, you are loved
Beloved to hear your words- your silence tells me that life has taught you so much
Ya Habooba, you’re just like me, you cry so easily
I seek to find your love awaiting me again once more
To sneak into your cellar and eat
Biskaweet al Eid- till I felt like I couldn't breathe
To hear “The Americans have arrived” when I enter a room
Fanfare of laughter to echo through the room
Through my ears that turn as red as an American embassy
I asked you for a fork, aiyza shooka with four pointed ends
You pointed to a tree full of spikes and said take ten
“Not that type of shooka habooba”
Of the Nile? It’ll take a while to get the spikes that stick out of the sea
Ten
“Abgi Asharaa” Be a ten were the last words you told me
I remember the last morning I felt in your presence, it was so early
The last time I drank a cup of tea that my aunt made me from the goats you tended to on a daily
Packing bags, and hearing you pace back and forth the home one last time
I didn't cry then
But my eyes haven't dried
Abgi Ashraa’ Wa Afiyeen Mineek Yousra
Take care of mama and baba they’ll need it
And they sure did...
That Afiyaa though, selfishly I needed it the most
Abgi Ashra
Be a ten... until we meet again
I don’t seek to mourn, not yet maybe tomorrow
Or on a Friday for two or three or four hours
Not today not yet don’t bring me any flowers
The sea feels so still, its current has to bring me forth through some sort of tide
Pride
I didn’t seek to mourn - not a year ago not now not ever
Don’t leave my people in this perpetual state of mourning
They are people of custom- one comes from near and far
Eventually, They will reach you in the morning
Accustomed.
Sudan still sounds so fresh and new on the tongues
Of those who take to the streets and fill sheets of papers with headlines
Deadlines...
Free Congo Free Sudan Free Falasteen
It all rings like anew through my ears as if I learned those words
again for the very first time.
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