Transcript : “On Remembrance and Eternity”

When i was first..
molded into existence
My maker was certain i would live forever
He,
Dirt coloured hands and
Blue flower petal heart
Withering with the wind..
Head in the clouds
Dreaming too often about thunder and lightening
I mean to say...
I was birthed amidst a storm
I was born from calloused hands and a dying heart,
My maker..
wrapped his favourite words around my neck
Tattooed them on my body,
lest he forget the verses
That housed his bones
lest he forget the nights he spent alone
Singing into the creases and air pockets in the walls
Hoping his serenades would sow the wounded ceiling back together
Mend the break in the walls,
Or his bones
A better home for me, he promised
Not so dark, perhaps..
Not so drowning..
My maker gave me away to
the widowed carpet maker down the street
and
there I was,
Placed on the old man's coffee table by the empty flower vase
There i was
Filled to the brim with cherry wine
Everytime.. he reached out for something lost and found me instead,
I never left
Back then..
Home was a room full of empty men..
with their wooden barbats and sitars
Broken strings and broken hearts,
Bellowing through tired lungs
Songs stolen from underneath other mens fingertips
Words..
ripped out of other mens throats
I have always been in the company of men who's lovers had forgotten their names
Forgettable men
With voices that could break apart ceilings and tear down walls
I was bound to be forgotten too,
My maker is with the stars now
The home that housed me is rubble underneath an unfamiliar skyline
I am empty and no-one reaches for me
I am far from anything familiar
I'll find comfort here, I'm sure.
I will live forever, i am certain i am certain i am certain

Poem Credits: Safwa Mohammed

This poem was presented as part of the “Spoken Art” programme that was curated by Dorian Rogers