• Vol. 10
  • Chapter 02

Ghazal of colors with a free monostich

When layl turns my mouth, a tabernacle
I budge my tongue against ruins of colors

A girl— gown— bulging eyes
and broken body with clots of red color

A pregnant woman robbed of words, life,
then a torso in the realm— of white color.

I dream of loss— of love, boy gliding off
the horizon of his beauty, like wet colors

& when my mother says, Allahu Akbar
nothing seems alive like the sun's color.

I dream of this opening that we're, this space, how we put pebbles over decaying colors

this vacuum in our hearts, this wearing off, the daily lodging in our bones of grey colors.

Partir c'est mourir un peu, to leave is to die a little, how little— do we dye into wild colors

Before we leave.

Is it not the spell of the winds that cast greens from trees— to wear quickly into dead colors

how do we swallow grief —without chewing them, to bloom amid eerie colors

Dele, how do we come again— eabir sabil
to continue this voyage— into what colors?