Kingdom of the West

bags packed - no visa no passport 

light and orderly: take what you need - no more

5 am the world shut tight 

the world unknowing

so vulnerable at this time 

do not follow the signs, the arrows, the paths 

walked on by too many lovers, too many children

bearing heavy bags of apples happiness a toothbrush a dream

do not follow 

this is not a vacation, there is no coming back

the orange air of this new country melts on my skin

and an effortless warmth squeezes the cold from my bones 

until a last breath dissolves and dissolves

there is no coming back, from there

I will keep going through blue, red, yellow worlds 

turn spices on my tongue, spit languages I never learned 

touch skins of snakes and strangers 

I will laugh, laugh until I cannot hear the sounds

of bones breaking and hearts cracking inside me

I will cover my head and my body in a long djellaba 

cover my scars: eyes bare blue from another world 

thwarted by another world, 

seeking a kind of healing 

offered by this sizzling beauty of oceans and deserts

my hands will be cleaned by foreign seas and my heart

thawed by a change of scene, a change from the same 

faces, same words scattered on me, the same laconic days 

colourless and apathetic

bags packed and ready 

allowing no space for your shadows, no space to spare a thought

not anymore. 

the oppressive heat of my new world will evaporate

the frigidness you turned in me, it will colour me in

like a child’s howtodraw book -

from white and black lines 

I will become a painting of colours and brushstrokes.

there is no coming back