"...
And with each advance I collapse
over my self's embers
and perish,
and with each retreat I demolish the walls of my rhime
and walk out the house of meaning in hope
that I would return to it murdered.
And since it was rightful to avenge my death from a rose
the tribe threw me to the water
for me to crown my promise with an ear of wheat
or with the noon sun
so I went along this route for a short while.
I say by phrases I did not speak
and by a cup whose wine has cracked my face
and I busied myself with arranging the things of my soul
as those who return from war do
for a long while..."
Zakariyya Muhammad, Everything.
