The Burning Sun

You said

you didn’t know me


And at first

your words fell short

of my heart


But you were right


You don’t know me


You don’t know me—

—or the way water dances

beneath my skin—

the way air moves

and bends

so that it may touch me


You don’t know

that my words

come together

to form birds

capable of much more than flight


You don’t know

that laughter

moves like silk

in my mouth

and falls like feathers

on foreign skin


You know nothing

of my heart

of my soul

of my skin

or the love I hold within


I am foreign

in this land

I am foreign

to you


If you read me

like an unfamiliar language

studied the way my characters move

to form sound

and spoke me

with all the messiness and curiosity

of a painter learning to sculpt

then you would know


What a shame it is

you never felt

the heat of my sun




I burned under yours


Copyright notice:

© Zeinab Hassan Fawaz and Broken Dolls, 2017. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s