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
please let me out of this.
please heal me of this.