I don’t breathe
I wheeze relentlessly
From ages of run
Of shot gun
barbaric ghosts made of broken sun

I don’t know
Where all went wrong
Now..
Its stuck in my head like a horrible song
Melody so strong it’s written in my forehead
Wrinkles crawling deep around my red eyes
I’m aging

I don’t breathe
I wheeze fearlessly
I carry my broken sun around
Like a heavy crown
Pushing me towards the end

But NO
I am a tree that grows tall
Refuses to be small
Or pushed around
I am not a burden
I refuse to be a show
For your lazy white eyes

I ran here and met
shot gun
barbaric ghosts
who hate
the colour of my skin
the shape of my proud chin
the pin on my hijab
they wished the flavour of my tongue had changed
thin..and turn into a thing that's opposite to my skin
they thought I was weak easy to prey on

But hey!
This
Isn't your show for you to Netflix and chill
I am not clowning for you to grill
I am a poem
Made of a volcano fluid
Don’t get too close,
or else you’ll lose your toes
I am a mango tree that grows tall
Refuses to fall

And I am telling you
I am telling you
I will sew back my broken sun
Re-write my glory with a golden pen
Re-breath fresh poetry into my broken song

one day
I will stop running
Breath slowly
while drawing stars under mango trees