All around are tears,
sorrow everywhere.
Always lies in the eyes,
coldness in hearts.
And I don’t know
what the world wants me for.

My steps are tired,
in that endless way—
since the night the grass burnt,
the night Passerine* flew

I worry too
over the cowardice of the world.
Left alone at home
with a dim eye and heart obscured,
nothing more remains in me—
except my two hands full of words,
full of tears.

And so I write!
With my blind eye,
I rain the words:
I pray for you with my
Rosary, torn like my heart
I pray for you. My two hands
touch every bead.
For you—like a cement wall
I cannot rely on.
But that has a nice scent in the rain, so
I rain and rain.

By Zainab

*Passerine refers to the order of birds commonly known as perching birds or songbirds.