A night poem

my eyes can barely take the weight of sleep

now

now that you are wording sentences on wars

and those who are left behind, those who are left on foot

running,

hiding,

dying, dying for real –

i am trying to ration my poetry

for you and i:

because

i dared to memorise the glow of the sun

by staring straight at it in the morning –

all by myself, alone,

while capturing an image of the clear blue sky; clouds softly formed

like your years-ago fingers on my face; as you slept a little –

somewhere else you call home, maybe.

some days i make do with the memory

to breathe, unaware

because

because my everyday

contains the images of

faraway wars too

and the wars we both share:

wars so close to our eyes, blinding, blindingly tucked in our skins;

wars of desperate stomachs, fearful hands and legs clinging on to

whatever helps to survive a day

because my everyday

contains images of the skeleton of a city

which gets fleshed by

faceless people – sweating, grating their spines –

just to be burned alive.

Rifat Islam Esha is a poet. For more updates on her work, you can follow her on Instagram: @rifatiesha.