Writhe
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Am I the scorching sun above
Or the child exposed?
Mimicking this wilting weed
My lone shade in the desert
Every drop of hope I had
You drank your fill; excess spills down your beard
The pharaoh, once your oppressor
Now your paragon
Screeching owls circles your gardens
Screaming "blood guilt"
Mass graves fertilize olive trees
Our graves left unwatered
Criticize our modest blossom
While you leach our tongue
Tell us all of your exceeding greatness
Through "small, dะตath-spitting mouths"
Fingers rise to flick the locusts
That you rะตsurrect
Mother Hagar smiles and wipes her eyes
God has seen us writhe in dust
Our thirst will be sated
Our keys, kept, will open the floodgates