give it a shape; make it touchable. so i can rip it out.

09 Aug

If pain is an organ, I would’ve gone under the knife long ago.

Cut it out, Dr. Surgeon, please. I don’t want it inside me. 

But it’s not an organ.

Not something could be seen with the naked eye or medical scans.

It’s a feeling.

A pressure weighing the chest.

A constriction of the blood vessels.

A numbness that stuns the whole body.

Or soreness that paralyzes the system.

It hurts too bad.

Even today, as I lay on my bed

closing my eyes, and

reciting Insyirah and Dhuha and Mulk and Muzammil and Yasin

Al-Insan, ‘Abasa, Al-Buruj, At-Tariq, Al-A’la


tasting the words I memorize

feeling the meaning I remember

until I fell asleep

with tears streaking down my cheeks.

I had a peaceful sleep.

But when I woke up

and went about with the day

the pain said hello again

and stays.


please let me out of this.

please heal me of this.


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Posted by on August 9, 2012 in .heh.


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