Untitled
I have nothing to narrate
Except regarding some lives close to mine
My life is empty from what fills up time
I said so to the one sitting next to me in the Metro
Meanwhile the intercom warns of the stampede at the doors
The standing are eagerly monitoring the sitting
Awaiting the opportunity to occupy their seats
A child passes through them selling small copies of the Quran
I remember my old ambition
To be a street seller
My body stretches on the seat
And awaits the next stop
Dad
I tell my father that I am trying to increase my humanness a little but the summer isn’t helping, he tells me to
pray the evening prayer before the resurrection happens
My father expects strange things from me
I am not a real son
Who—by God—wants a son who eats pizza like a sandwich
And watches his belly grow like a stock market index
My father loves Oum Kalthoum except when I talk to him about her
If someone told him about my dreams, he would crucify me according to Sharia law
My father needs a real son
I will find one for him
All artwork is courtesy of Rana Ashraf.
