My home
My papers, pen, brush
My daughter
My son, my wife
My friends
The neck grew longer,
Like a camel’s, a dinosaur’s.
A python coiling around
Death rattle on a bird’s nest
And the martyrs offered prayers to the chaste souls of martyrs.
And tears outpoured.
Throat drained.
Lips dried up.
Utterance cracked.
When the word’s stake broke
At the cross point of time and place,
When we lost the drive to fight our internal weaknesses,
Man died.
He slaughtered his own brother.
Publication excerpt from Ibrahim El-Salahi. Prison Notebook, 1976. The Museum of Modern Art, New York, 2018.