Beauty; in Distress

I yearn for a world

as a caged bird aches for the sky,

the spray of mist against its feathers as it pierces the clouds

I yearn from a world free of the colonial gaze.

On my daily commute on 6th of October bridge, I am bombarded by the latest edition of sky pollution: billboard ads.

Faces and words stare down with cold gazes at an indifferent crowd.

What does MIDGARD or RAFTS OF ARK mean to the thousands that whizz by everyday?

It is evident that this ark is not for us, for we were meant to be engulfed by the deluge.

It dawned on me, through the cacophony of beeping automobiles, that a portion of the population cannot make out the foreign words on these billboards.

Passed the pollution however, lay a grove of palm trees, and passed that still, idyllic farmlands that eventually lead to an unspeakable wonder 4000 years of age and remarkably triangular.

The stars weep for the foreign world that has come to plunder

Soon, it will all be torn asunder.

Surely the planets remember a past– and indeed will look upon a future– where beauty is restored.

Where our culture, woven from ancient threads and tempered in the glow of a thousand moons, honours our features, our phenotypes, and our history.

الله is the divine manifest in us all