He sits like this,
Rarely saying much into the phone
He remembers he comforted her in her sleep once
To numb the pain when her Mother left
Despite being thousands of lights and languages away
Galvanised gunmetal and magenta hued thoughts
Like misty Mumbai skies before the Monsoon
That lowered above their heads
and left precipitation in her eyes and thunder in his head.
A frayed and weathered Xadraawi paperback lays atop his black and white humming tv set
He picks at the chipping door's paint with his eyes
A old Italian colonial building burns a block down
The flames let off a selfish stench
The smoke seeps through his window carefully avoiding the window pane
Unwavered he takes in a polluted breath that reaches his regal toes
He tells her he remembers things after the age of 6
His Uncle's painting of the hanging gardens of Babylon
How he wishes he could go there and pick only the richest of fruits for her
The civil breaking out and the urgance in everybody’s feet
When he realised he would never leave
How his Father passed on his 5th birthday
He swears to Seylac and back that,
When Aabo died the innermost part of Hooyo's diety left with him
He remembers seeing Sulfa perform with his older sister
They danced on Lido beach with the Moon
Until the Sun waltzed it around
The multitudinous scents on Friday at Madrassa school
The way his teeth sunk into cool watermelon on Bakara market
Then being wrapped up warm by the Adhan's call to Prayers
But furthermore he wants to know,
where she, the one with ankles scented with uunsi
protected with gold and turq jewelled anklet
Father's dedicated Daughter
Skin the shade of soaked Tunisian almond skins
Has been all his life?
She sits like this
Hand dutifully holding acrylic phone
Despite being hundreds of oceanic movements and mainland interferences away
She held him in her arms once
Whilst he was unconscious
On Xamar weyne streets
Cradling him when his body tried to battle the invading bullet
Hot sweltering heat
Blood red like a Buffalo's open carcass on famished plains
A leaky tap and lyricist lounge CD give beat to her backdrop
She gives him unsaid vows sent from her 7th Great Aunt
The one who died before she got a copper chance
To say what she felt to her beloved
She plays with her Father's swiss pocket knife
Until her sore hands resemble the casing in colour
Vaseline leisurely added to her pinky finger
She smoothes prodigy twice to her lips
A wind breaks and momentarily flirts with her wallhung blue and white flag
For 18 years now
Its been violated
Pulled to and fro
Threads woven in with worthless tribal names
Those that when pronounced twist your tongue into snakes
She tells him
She remembers things after the age of 4
The sweaty forehead of the air steward when they landed in JFK
Trying and failing in trying to count lightbulbs on times squares
Mismatched clothing and dialogue on her milky refugee tongue
Where she was when she first heard the Fugees on the radio
Homeless Cherokee figures with leather-like skin
White collars chasing dollars
Big bird's canary yellow
Seeing J Dilla live at the bluenote in NYC
Profane Brownstone faces and busy stoops at summertime
The way her classmates eyebrows knitted
When she told them she was from SOO-MAA-LI-YA
She wants to know
Where he, the one with the softly blemished skin that maps out Byzantine
Who wears the clinically white racerback vests that contrast with his beautiful tanned melanin
He with the hair twisted from civil war struggle
Brother protector of her homeland dreams
has been all her life?
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