The Things I Carry

I carry the bittersweet memories of living in different cities, of my childhood innocence that left me long ago.

I carry lipstick in my purse because I’ve been taught that it’s classy, at least that’s what they told me so.

I carry poems because they entertain me much more than screens that broadcast humanity’s lows.

I carry the whispers I caught from others that criticize me to the very last.

I carry a reserved soul because I’ve seen too much evil to let go.

I carry the burden of someone else’s happiness that pressures me to be perfect, a motivation unsurpassed.

I’ll carry you if you carry me, at least that’s what I’ve been told.

I carry a pen that strikes paper like bullets shooting at targets during war.

I carry the languages of French, Spanish, Algerian, and English because culture is all I have ever known.

I carry my wooden spoon that my father gave me when I was eight, because cooking is a form of love from the soul.

I carry the regrets of all the insults I have ever said.

I carry a cup filled with black coffee, no milk or sugar, just the way I like it; bitter.

I’ll carry you if you carry me, at least that’s what you told me so.

I carry the wisdom of generations that have tumbled down through proverbs from ancient folks.

I carry the oppression of the subjugation of myself to adhere to cultural restrictions and contradictions that is society’s big hoax.

I carry that firm personality that resembles the first teacher that ever taught me how to read.

I carry the thoughts of wondering what did I do to deserve God’s mercy.

I carry a transcript with ‘good’ grades that seek to pursue your pleasure and to repay you, mother, for the sacrifices; don’t worry I remember.

I’ll carry you if you carry me, at least that’s what I’ve been told.

I carry the shoes that guided my feet through the halls of darkness to light as a lost soul.

I carry the quarrels we had like lovers in a parking lot.

I carry the books of Hosseini, Qabbani, and all the authors I have ever known.

But, the Quran that trembles in my right hand still strikes me as if I’ve never read it before.  

I carry the picture of a graceful old woman draped in white in an olive garden that I met long ago.

May Allah swt have mercy on her soul.

I’ll carry you if you carry me, at least that’s what I’m telling you so.

I’ll carry your baggage and all our dirty laundry because

mon coeur comprend et vous aime.

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One Comment Add yours

  1. Heba says:

    this was so good, i hope i get the chance to see you perform it soon *o*

    Like

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