ZOHRA FATEMAH

Burning.

There is a fire.

My lips are dry,

I’ve got muddled words

My lungs and soul are burning along with your each leaf.

Each spark speaks a thousand words, unheard.

Dying, is the earth with your fire.

The blazing furnace
Still rages without witness;

The fire rages, crackles, hisses
No moisture left to soften your roots,
In the nighttime as well as day:

Days of silence go by while we watch you burn

The fire sits forgotten.
A thousand feigned attempts to douse thou,
You burn on without forgiveness.

Way before me and my ancestors you were

And here you are burning before me and my unborn.

As burns your trunks along is burning my skin with you.

Each spark in your vastness kills the fire of my soul.

Crackling with your once dancing leaves is the heart, crying.

I am not insensitive to your smoke, for in it I can feel my own self suffocating.

I carry the weight of this life with lovely resentments.