A Forest Grown From Blood Poem by SAJJAAD MALEKSHAAHI

Though I'm at home, I'm not at home.
Does acid cause the house to dissolve?

I am surrounded by you, yet I am far away.
Will it penetrate the bone the following day?

I am hovering, ashes, and fire strewn among words.
Will the body remain exposed to light?

What's the most recent?
What will the beginning look like?

We'll go around in circles
buried desires within the body.
Untimely movements, gaps in blindness, and local intensities in the language's decomposing body are all present.

What else would it be but a refusal to acknowledge gravity and the terrible sucking-in of absence that makes words appear on fire?

How does your language flow?
Does it wrap around the word or is it woven into my tongue?

Your tongue is the dawn that spreads over my body.

I am my tongue's body.
My tongue is my body
A forest grown from blood
that entrusts tomorrow's recency to the revolt.

Sajjaad Malekshaahi
2022-06-25