Amira Ali

As untamed fire ignites
a world separated by
pronouns,
broken world brakin'n
streets crack'd foot crak'd in
mak'n a dwellin' there
siftin' thru ashes
to turn cold into bliss'd air
is the story of the little boy.

I was born on the side
where kingdoms reigned,
times of which queens thrived
and made the love of that
of es Sudan's gifted mysterious
blued Nile; gushing in the bosom
of unfathomable nights
to live in the subtlest of passion.

Muted sounds of inner cries
seen but not heard,
evoked by the teared face of grief,

thirsting for lost tenderness
the delicate quintessence cries
black tears,

I have started to keep your letters close to my bedside, even closer than they were before. They are now stuffed in the pillow case, safe enough to ensure that the words will not escape my dream. Lucid dreams of you and I, the closest I have gotten to kissing and holding you.

Found, again after five

hundred many years of

uprooted-ness

of ancestry

wisdom-ness,

found, again after many

years

let us unveil to

If we are poignant by hardened images and ideas represented by words – euphemisms – our hope of changing the world has to transcend conventional methods.

_
BROUGHT TO YOU BY PAMBAZUKA NEWS

_
BROUGHT TO YOU BY PAMBAZUKA NEWS

* Amira Ali holds an MA in International Relations and Conflict Resolution. She is a freelance writer, poet and activist.
* 'Yene fikeregna' is an Amharic phrase that translates in English to 'my beloved'.