Amira Ali

I may be a few months late on this, but it can never be too late to address a recurring theme.

As the darkest of nights
Meets the morning sun
Bodies are staged
Undressed
Despite the sunshine
Reduced
To nameless political projects
Miniskirts robbing their names
Bodies sacrificing names
To name miniskirts
Names in order for each day:
Power

Rush hour on commuter rail epitomizes survival of the fittest. Oblivious to color, age, pregnancy, special-needs, etc, it only knows the urgency of commuting, getting to its destination.

‘I can hear the roar of women’s silence’ – Thomas Sankara

Traveling on the subway/metro, musical sounds, both amateurish and professional, are ordinarily in hallways of the underground station. The interstice of sound occupying this space and time, though hard to avoid, can be ignored.

While in college, I attempted to act out the American part; I attempted the popular social practices that constituted an all-American look.

Man dreams
of far away lands
unknown,
thoughts yearnin'
of unconcealed gems
to fetch and be fetch'd,

to reach the field
of the unknown
but to be desecrat'd
by projects
of food stamps and sorts
yet unknown,

Tears rain our world
crying for the moon
covering the ocean with bottomless tears,

humanness love a lucid confusion
unknown but by the few,
the jewel of reality
worn only but by the few,