A brief history of misery by Amirah Al Wassif

A brief history of misery

Among the stones, there was a flower that reached out to me.
Many years ago, I dreamt of the Arabian Nights
When I woke up I found myself laughing
As I sat at the edge of battle
Dressed like a warrior.

I am not a half-person anymore
No matter how society classifies me
No Matter how the world introduces me
I stand in a proud position
Pouring my excitement into the Revolution’s womb.

I run with all my might seeking a door or a window
I find nothing
I type on my Google page
I have searched many times
But always find no results.

I recall the rooster’s crow in our tales
I wait for its appointment
But nothing happens.
I shout like a child
Who sees her first gorilla.

I moan
But all the women who are hidden under my skin, moan louder.
We are not a family
We are one.
We are tied to each other against the walls of the prison.
It took a very long time to crawl out from under the tunnels,
Climbing the highest trees,
Rubbing our faces with the world’s maps.

Among the stones, a flower reached out to me.
I was reborn with a great motivation to scratch the sky
No Matter how many people try to limit my power
No Matter how hard the world fights me.

Image credit: A combination of a Muslim woman (Jushey/Cleanpng/Kisspng for International Woman’s Day/plus applying media filters) and the image of a hopeflower in cracks of the stone (Hope in a Time of Fear: A Letter from Jason Marsden)

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