Poetry: Melody of Being Animate (MBA)

Melody Of Being Animate (MBA)

16/12/14 – 18/12/14 – 22/12/14 – 27/12/14 – 8/1/15 – 10/1/15 :December Metro 15th

On the 15th of December, me, sitting across my little sister listening, laughing, she forms sentences as if voice box were stuck on auto pilot, she’s talking about happenings of a boy, and how he did her or her friend wrong, I don’t know, I wasn’t really listening, across from her, our family friend who looks annoyed about the situation, as you can imagine we were swallowed up in our own dialogue, I looked up at one point, ahead of me, I see a man, with a bike, shaved sides, long hair, but the middle tied up, I see his mouth moving, but I’m not sure what his saying, I can’t seem to make out the words, all I hear are mumbles, I look back down, Zam is still stuck on auto pilot, then I hear something, I can hear him, the man screaming ‘fucking Muslims’ as though we were one, not blood flesh and bone, not majority good, but minority bad, his attacks getting worse, he screams again, I freeze, is he talking to us, I glance, our eyes meet, I want to say something in defence, but my mouth just won’t let me speak, I froze, I was so scared of being physically attacked, even though verbal abuse scars, I become numb to some of the strangers down the train laughing at his racist slurs, I told the little ones to put their heads down, not look ahead, I told them not to reply back, I didn’t want us to be hurt over something that shouldn’t have happened to begin with, when he left the train the situation was just a blur of confusion, a train wreck of why’s, as though he decided that they are different, as though Islam was the poison of humanity, humanity doesn’t choose to become poison, media molds humanity into the chemical formula of this ridiculous science experiment, when he got off the train we looked out at him, as he met our eyes he disgustedly spat at the train, eyes sharp as though they spoke evil to us, at this point I was shaken, my body did not know how to take in this privilege of my being, I was convinced that it never happened, my state of mind intoxicated, my everything was denying this abuse, once again I became numb, at the end of the day, I couldn’t help but feel I experienced the majority of our nation in its true form, as centuries go by, racism is still being belted out as though, was not, can not be an offence, privilege knowing they can get away, at the end of the day they can, at the end of the day I’m still part of the minority good, at the end of the day privilege is evident, at the end of the day, no one was there for us, at the end of the day we’ll try to shake this movie cut, try to move on as usual, at the end of the day, month, year, centuries, waiting for society to become less ignorant, when will they change, when will we stop feeling like the problem, when will they stop making us the problem, we the hunted, as if we weren’t already being stripped of morality, rights amounting to pigmentation, this black that stains history’s, earth becoming the hunting ground of our greatest movie cut yet, big, bold, over played, overexposed, overseen, hope, for humanity.

FH – Fatma Hussein.


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