The Ofi Press Magazine

Poems by K. Eltinaé (Sudan)

Published in The Ofi Press issue 50 

Kismet/

He could have been my father,

With his blue-black skin

asking directions in that language

that wiped us off the map.

He could have been my father,

With his safari suit and silver rings.

With vowels clipped and buried

so no one would hear them sing.

I cough up sand and answer,

That I am the son of a dove

and a panther.

From their blood and feathers

 I have learned about love.

He could have been my father,

But he smiled when he talked about God. 

Exile/

Today,

I will iron a shirt and face the wind.

Map out the city with my black taxi disguise,

Listen to Indians, Africans and Arabs

Claim my colors, hair and eyes.

Stopping for drinks, smiles, one night stands,

Counting people holding hands,

Gentler than mine.

Tomorrow,

I will find a phone booth and call home.

Listen to threats about the evils of wanderlust,

Pretend I haven´t survived them yet.

I will lie and tell them I am happy at last, and wait

to hear that wherever I go, walls have ears,

and from them I will never be free.

How much longer?

they still count days, months, years.

I think about those walls and their ears,

Measuring everyday how long it takes

To step out of the shower,

Tie laces, practice faces,

Until I drop dead.

Sent back to a place I fled from

But never escaped.