The other kids mocked me, they called me names
Heathen – they said, your mother is a whore
And your daddy’s the son of a whore. I did not listen
Who cares what everybody says? But I bled on the inside
I bled beneath the walls behind which I was hiding
In plain daylight. They called me Shaptir, spat sunflower
Seeds on my cheek. It is stained in my being, the root
of Anger, powerless that I am I am still attempting to smile. One night
I was returning home when three of them appeared at one corner
I did not want to fight. The chased me. Muslim scum, they cried
Desperately I was trying to find the right place to hide.
My dog tried to protect me, so they killed my dog.
Darkness tried to protect me, so they killed my darkness.
God tried to protect me
They killed my God.
But these are not tears, and I – I am not sad. I am rested
I am Vengeance.
I am Ready.
G.
andreanum & co 