by Sha Najak, poet/artist

9.23.2005

My conscience tells me...I'm gonna die

I see it
There
I see it

I cannot explain it
It bears no form
But it comes with a warning

Prepare yourselves
Take your baths
And don your veils

It nears
Its presence blown like a whisper
Our minds flutter with madness
Not knowing where faith lies

The responsibility we’ve carried all our lives
The wounded sins come undone crying out loud

Back to the factory where I was made
My only hope the master forgives