For ‘Karim
“We used to have peace, but now we have only war.”—Halima
I will not speak of the dead
for that is another matter.
I will not speak of those
driven out of their homes
to find shelter in a camp
fenced with strings.
I will not speak of those
raped at dawn. Or of children
shot in the head.
I will not speak of them.
I will not speak of the woman,
round and heavy, like me
who will give birth to a child she’ll be ashamed to name.
neither will I speak of
a dozen other women, like her
and a village which will beget bastards.
I will not speak of the slash—deep in my thigh,
made by a knife: a brand of ownership, the mark of a slave.
No; on such matters I’ll be silent.
Rather I’ll speak of warm fires. Of oases, dates, and night songs.
I’ll speak of things that once were.
(Excerpted from “Without a Name” a collection of poems by Val K, coming soon.)
About the Author
Val K is a poet and a nature lover.