Home » Poems » Shamsa Suleiman » Without Expression I Am the Question

Without Expression I Am the Question

Samra comes here often Pretending she wants to buy stuff Or is looking for something
What she is really look for though is me
She wants to know who iam
She wants to know what I do
She wants to know where am heading She wants to know where I have been She wants to know why am here 
She wants to know me

I stare at samra for a while
Poor little girl
Wasting her time on a man who got a woman She knows this she does
But she continues to come here Everyday she comes here
She comes dressed up
Bright shiny clothes
Lots of eyeliner and fake hair
I know its fake because you see the lining near her forehead 
She wears too much perfume
Samra wants me to notice her
I want no trouble so I look away

Now she is here
With half her breasts out
And her tongue wiggling to and fro She is playing with those long eyelashes Flickering them up and down
Up and down
Up and down
For a moment I stutter
This girl is asking for trouble
And trouble she is going to get
Now she is behind my counter
Acting all shy like she a piece of silk
This devil girl is sick
I am going to do her proper
I know this is improper
But she is making my eyes dropper
Once am done am going to leave her like a chopper

She wanted to know who I was
She wanted to know what I do
She wanted to know where am heading
She wanted to know where I have been She wanted to know why am here. She wanted to know me.

She starts screaming rape
Looking at me like I am to blame
Now everybody is looking at me with shame 
Through their eyes I see hatred and aim Claims made with the aim to achieve fame I regret giving into the game
The game that has now cost me flames
I regret ever looking at something that wasn’t mine
How could something happen over such a short line Making me feel like I was on cloud number nine

I am acting like I have been drinking a thousand glasses of wine Too damn ashamed of my own self shine
But even as you read Question me you will succeeded For a man’s reasoning can only exceed You will say it was my greed That led me to reseed
Wasn’t me that took lead? Wasn’t it him that wanted this need?
For samra is a woman Everything about her was that of a trueman 

Poor little girl
That bastard really made her swirl Now she is left up to curl
Whilst he continues to twirl
Poor little girl.

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