Always with the opressed,
Never stop looking at the world puzzled.
my eyes are open, wide open,
my heart hacked.
I run from tear gas canisters, dodge rubber coated bullets
I fight border police officers, soldiers, soldiers, my own brothers
myself- am I doing it right?
I fight guilt, shame, responsibility, memory, media,
I freeze. Shocked. I can't move a thing.
And if I scream, who will hear me out?
I ask world to stop the torture,
but I can't stop my own torture,
& what suffering I can understand but my own?
& how can I understand what is unsignified to the point of meaningless
the suffering of me being one in many
known as people
How could I claim to posses the other's suffering while I can't claim my own?
Pain is expropriated by state, nothing is my own,
I am one speaking of others that speak myself
and we call this echoing solidarity,
a method to keep something human
when humanity is violated according to law
when law means no justice, when reconciliation brings no comfort
my body is my broken shield, to be striped , to be searched, to taken the beaten
my body is confiscated in favor of struggle, my body is occupied by state terror, my body writes bruised reports
of a mind that no longer posses its own thoughts, just recording
my mind is a collaborating witness of occupation
& if I die, I will take the occupation down to the grave with me,