Seeham Rahman — "Silence is the antidote for an ethnic assault", 2020

My fragmented brown body.
This is not a collection
of dull non-memories. But the evocation of the few
abashing sensations which one tries to forget;
sprawling on the staircase, the sharp sound of a zipper
and inviolable thighs unfurled and molten.

My brown frame after four laps around the sun
remains with a hand still hot inside it.
Moving slowly as it oozes with dishonour.
Struggling to reign supreme
in the game of chastity and

My brown form reeks of honey.
Tongue fondling a muzzle and head
yearning for a swift guillotine.
A victory in bodily usage
yet surviving on the dream of one day drawing blood.
Everything is perfect in pseudo-heaven.

My brown frame grapples admirably,
with the weight of abandonment
and enlightenment.
Questioning if
the hymen really matters.
To the bestial white man, or me.
Living with the ache,
of every physical ability
to savagely gut his paunch.

I remain silent
while wrestling a wet fever
day after day.
A shattered vermillion border
showered in zam zam water
yet left embracing a shallow belly
left grossly filled with shamed souvenirs.

My brown being.
You are a luminary.


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