Woman―Jood M.T.

Daughter of the Desert:

I’m the daughter
of the golden sun.
The star that
guides you to your
journey’s end.
I’m the independent,
the persistent.
I’m the scream
of riots,
and the whisper
of revolutions.
I’m the jewel of
this land,
and the pioneer of
its borders.
I’m strong,
I’m resilient,
and I am the daughter
of the desert.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Fire―DareenSami

Where do you go? When the whole world decides to break you instead of breaking its surface for air. When the weight of a million suns is balanced between your shoulder blades. When the darkness screeches the planet because you appear and the sun rises when you don’t. Who do you hold on to? When the people close to you cut the ropes and leave you falling over and over again. The people that once gave you hope that they’d sacrifice everything for you but then again, you were their only sacrifice. Where do you run? When all the great demons dance upon your skin and the hell fires come to get you from all parts of the world. You run to yourself, you hold on to your own dreams and faith. You’ve got fire much bigger than the fires of the whole planet and you can make it. Burn who seises to see that in you, burn them oh for the love of god don’t make them break into your soul trying to contain the flame that started it all, burn like a million suns. Make them wonder how you’re t
Read more

Skin―DareenSami

I’m sorry that the tears in your eyes can never rain on the lands of your cheeks. That the skin On your hands Is as rough And dry As the leaves In autumn. I’m sorry For the many Times you wished Someone Would plant Flowers in the Dryness of your Skin and water Them everyday. And mostly, I’m sorry Myself For there Came a Time when I too Abandoned The soul Beneath the Skin.
Read more

Skin―Dana Alh

I carried my sneakers along with my school bag with me to the door and stepped in front of the mirror to have one final look at myself, my usually curly hair was neatly split into two side braids with red bows tying them at the end, my shirt was neatly tucked under the hem of my skirt, my sleeves were buttoned and my collar was folded perfectly - I looked as ready for my first day of school as the other kids I saw on TV. I quickly put my recently-polished shoes on and headed to the bus stop. “Yo, Khadija, do you really think you’re going to school?” I looked to the back and saw my neighbor Isaiah. Being my best-friend, I always told him how much I wanted to go to school, but he kept telling me that school wasn’t made for people like us. At some point, I almost believed Isaiah, until my father was killed by a policeman and my mother remarried a white man who told me not to listen to anyone who tells me I can’t. I heard my mother speaking to my aunt once when they thought I was asleep,
Read more