“Silence is a limb,” by Fatra Hussein
March 14, 2024
My limbs go loose. Digging deeper and deeper into the earth. As if they are searching for food. My blood seeps out. I wince at the wound. It’s been there since I learned how to talk. It kept me silent when they wronged me. My throat is dry. I search for water as if she didn’t just resist my love. I run to her. As my limbs go loose. I am no longer thinking of myself. I have turned against whoever I proclaim to be. I watch as they wonder. Digging at each other. They turn and ask. I only listen. Time and time again they ask. I don’t have much to say. My throat is dry. They have already killed me from the inside. I dig deeper in search for a drop of water. To quench my thirst. I’ve forgotten how to live. Only for others. They have killed me from the inside. When they wonder who I am. I wonder the same. There is no one to defend me. My limbs have gone loose. The blood has become a puddle. I quench my thirst with my tears.
This poem was written by Fatra Hussein, as a 2023-24 Youth Poetry Fellow. Performed at the Seattle Arts & Lectures Community Curated Series event J. Kenji López-Alt presents Eric Kim on Thursday, March 14, 2024 at Town Hall Seattle.