Poetry

Dead Language

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My heart sat on the window pane:
bleaked; stripped; pounding.
I reminisced of the stolen happiness
sitting on my face.
I rewrote my tears in the most painful syllables.
Something like affliction, something like pain.
My heart was a dead language,
and this verse pronounced every letter clearly.
It recited, “after every hardship, there is relief”.

I sighed into this line,
my tears fused with each fatha,
I felt the down-toning of pain recite with each kasra.
I sprung,
My tears dried.
I recited the next line,
they sounded like lullabies drowsing my pain.
A repetition, an enjambment for soul-lifting.
“Indeed, after every hardship is relief”.
The window closed, my pain faded into belief.
My heart found Solace.


Note from author: The last word: Solace, with a capital “S”, translates as the meaning of the name of the surah; Suratul Inshirah.

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Top 10 Contestant for the 2017 Muslim Youth Musings Ramadan Writing Contest!