you, who are always saving me

by Aqeela Naqvi

you, who are always saving me. from the maelstroms i create. from the drowning i choose. from the salt-laced taste of sinking i have made so familiar to my tongue. from the seaweed tangled snares i have made so comfortable to my skin.

you, who are always reviving me. a pitier of the dead, but a corpse walking amongst the living. a constant forgetter of the ‘where from’ and ‘where is’ and ‘where going.’ a voice speaking a thousand miles a minute in a thousand crowded rooms but whose thousand masks cannot hide the thousand chasms aching, pulsing beneath my skin.

you, who are always reaching out a hand. even when my own are blackened by the ash i embrace; even when the half-moons of my nails are muddied from the hollow graves i dig. you, who are always leading me from the suffocating gathering of my thoughts which buzz buzz buzz in an effort to tune out the silence of my soul. you, who are always breaking me free, even when my ungratefulness looks back wistfully at my gilded cages — guiding me to the stars to smell the sweetness of sky.

you, who are always finding me. on swarming subways, beneath fluorescent library lights, deep within the empty caverns of my never quiet mind — so that on a lonely night in a lonely city, an unexpected thought of you brings a gathering of tears in too long arid eyes — a realization, a remembering of a person long-forgotten (a riverbed crashing against a mountain’s face, too long thirsty, too long left gasping for air)

you, who are always saving me.
thank you – i love you – will never be enough.

أسلام عليك يا أميرالمؤمنين
ya Ali. six thousand miles of horizons and seas and one thousand years between you and i. but in my heart, you have never been more than a whisper away. in my heart, you have never been far from my side. but now my limbs ache to be in your presence. hopes with the rising and setting sun, that this dust will be honored with visiting you soon.