Salam. I Am Sorry for Yesterday
by Akif Kichloo
If I say I am sorry for yesterday, which yesterday
am I referring to. Anxiety mimes hysteria, hysteria
mimes past tragedies, and you become a ghost.
A sick imposter. Hiding. Scaring everybody back
to innocence. Can you call it trauma if you can’t
show the scars? You learn to say your Namaste’s,
fold your hands in gratitude, write your thank you’s
with sparkling brilliance, and apologize. Repeatedly
apologize.
Salam.
I am sorry for yesterday.
Allah Hafiz.
When Prophet Mohammad was kicked out of Mecca,
he made a kingdom on its outskirts, called it al-Madīnah,
called it the city, called it home. My mother pushed me out
at 10:30 p.m., on a hot, humid, summer day, on a government
paid hospital bed, and she swears I didn’t stop crying for two full
days. It was horrifying. Sometimes what is too much for
someone looks small. A mother carries a crying child, an ant
carries a grain of sugar. A child carries love.
Salam.
Every time a chromosome replicates, some genes are lost
at its tail. That’s how we age. When I was five all the boys
in my class were first hooked to sugar, then to attaboy’s from
their dads. Yesterday, when I asked my Dad for forgiveness,
I saw an attaboy in his hands.
Papa, I am sorry for yesterday.
How do you carry an invisible weight. How do you live standing
on the edge of a blade. God created earth in 6 days and had to rest on
the 7th. The last time I had a good night's sleep was when my
mother carried me tied to her back.
What else is there to remember.
Allah Hafiz.
am I referring to. Anxiety mimes hysteria, hysteria
mimes past tragedies, and you become a ghost.
A sick imposter. Hiding. Scaring everybody back
to innocence. Can you call it trauma if you can’t
show the scars? You learn to say your Namaste’s,
fold your hands in gratitude, write your thank you’s
with sparkling brilliance, and apologize. Repeatedly
apologize.
Salam.
I am sorry for yesterday.
Allah Hafiz.
When Prophet Mohammad was kicked out of Mecca,
he made a kingdom on its outskirts, called it al-Madīnah,
called it the city, called it home. My mother pushed me out
at 10:30 p.m., on a hot, humid, summer day, on a government
paid hospital bed, and she swears I didn’t stop crying for two full
days. It was horrifying. Sometimes what is too much for
someone looks small. A mother carries a crying child, an ant
carries a grain of sugar. A child carries love.
Salam.
Every time a chromosome replicates, some genes are lost
at its tail. That’s how we age. When I was five all the boys
in my class were first hooked to sugar, then to attaboy’s from
their dads. Yesterday, when I asked my Dad for forgiveness,
I saw an attaboy in his hands.
Papa, I am sorry for yesterday.
How do you carry an invisible weight. How do you live standing
on the edge of a blade. God created earth in 6 days and had to rest on
the 7th. The last time I had a good night's sleep was when my
mother carried me tied to her back.
What else is there to remember.
Allah Hafiz.
Biography
|
Akif Kichloo is a poet of Indian origin currently alternating residence between Saginaw, Michigan (USA) and Kashmir, J & K (India). With a bachelor's degree in Medicine and Surgery, he has been eating shoelaces for the past year because he gave up everything to write poetry. Currently signed with Andrews Mcmeel Publishing for his book of poems Falling Through Love (Fall 2019).
Facebook/Instagram/Twitter/Tumblr/Pinterest : @akifkichloo http://akifkichloo.com/ |
