Volume 4
Dajal دَجَل
play
pause
The sun is rising on a morning already thick with heat
The birds’ complaints are loud and long
A song I know all too well and find a strange comfort in
I’ve been up for hours already, moving beneath the cover of night at first
But the sun lifted its head and so did I
The proof of what begun was a scarlet letter scouring flesh
I can see it shimmering like a pearl beneath the sun’s curious rays
Even with my nose and mouth covered
I will choke on the insidious pathway it has carved makes my blood run cold
Canary yellow is my colour
Trailed down the middle of the bodice reminded him of my eyes
It feels like sacrilege to erase the beauty that once stood there
For a moment I stand staring at the two
Once familiar they sway like strangers before me
Flinch with every finch
Already the sun has begun to dry
There’s no removing them
She gathers her soft folds in my arms
The memory of bare toes and marveling fingertips
The sun is higher
The memory still serves it’s purpose
The scenes would have lost some of their clarity over time
Alas, the sun would make it better
The sun would make it right
The birds’ complaints are loud and long
A song I know all too well and find a strange comfort in
I’ve been up for hours already, moving beneath the cover of night at first
But the sun lifted its head and so did I
The proof of what begun was a scarlet letter scouring flesh
I can see it shimmering like a pearl beneath the sun’s curious rays
Even with my nose and mouth covered
I will choke on the insidious pathway it has carved makes my blood run cold
Canary yellow is my colour
Trailed down the middle of the bodice reminded him of my eyes
It feels like sacrilege to erase the beauty that once stood there
For a moment I stand staring at the two
Once familiar they sway like strangers before me
Flinch with every finch
Already the sun has begun to dry
There’s no removing them
She gathers her soft folds in my arms
The memory of bare toes and marveling fingertips
The sun is higher
The memory still serves it’s purpose
The scenes would have lost some of their clarity over time
Alas, the sun would make it better
The sun would make it right
play
pause
Her eyes were raining in great sheets
Rapidly darkening into the hue
It made her seasick
Empty hollows of her blue
The memory was an old veteran
Billowing and budding through
Her face was canary yellow
Empty hollows of her blue
The space steamed over with the breath
The Mecca she never returned to
Guffaw of mirth drifted out
Empty hollows of her blue
After all, it was her funeral
And for this I thank you
Pitter patter went the rain she said
Empty hollows of her blue
Rapidly darkening into the hue
It made her seasick
Empty hollows of her blue
The memory was an old veteran
Billowing and budding through
Her face was canary yellow
Empty hollows of her blue
The space steamed over with the breath
The Mecca she never returned to
Guffaw of mirth drifted out
Empty hollows of her blue
After all, it was her funeral
And for this I thank you
Pitter patter went the rain she said
Empty hollows of her blue
Collaborations in order of appearence:
2019, The Space Between, Video, 14:47m, Sarah Brahim
2019, Syria Serenading Graveyards at Dusk, Video, 05:05m, Sarah Alagroobi
2019, Fate, Site specific sculpture, Variable dimentions, Abdulrahim Al Kindi
Curation and mentorship by:
Tara Aldughaither, Walid Al Wawi & Sargon Latchin
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