What am I to you-

another
An other.

I am
a victim
of Islamic Fundamentalism, and yet I am muslim.

Does this bend your mind in ways it cannot open?
But this is not an
alternative fact-
No,
this is my dystopian utopia, the new place I call home.

Yet,
I don’t want your remorse for a blind man’s actions.
I want you to see me, the same way you see yourself and your white neighbour.
This pain belongs to us all, not just my kind.

See me, the same way you see all the Sarahs. With an H or without.

“Well…” you said, “we are surprised.” The sun, glinting in your eyes, “This is Sarah.”
Yes, This is me. Not another.
“Well, we simply didn’t expect to see a Sarah with dark hair and dark eyes walk through our front door”—
Simply said. With kindness, of course.
I am never what you expect, but I always wish I were-
Just like you.

Being taught, in sacred places, with high ceilings, and whispered feelings- we are all one.
Then the sacred spills onto the streets and the words morph
through your grinning teeth. We are not the same, and the Other is to blame.
They did not melt enough
Nor, try hard enough to sound just like this clique:
The English Language tapes I heard my parents play as I fell asleep.
Walking the new roads and streets while practicing proper pronunciation.

OUR democratic institutions and political process are awash with a populist movement whose people need
Scapegoats
for the shortcomings of Liberal idealism that turned to Greed

There is no wisdom here just shame and Our lives are not the same.
Nothing connecting us as one,
So-
Different colours- take your gun.
Hold them tightly in your hand
The Gods are giving their commands,
who to follow, who to curse- –
while misery, rage, and blame
feel so holly in this game.

2 thoughts on “What am I to you-

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