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Sahar Noumi Poem
And I know, from freedom and by fate,
that the sky will weep upon us, Kohl in tears of virgins who has never taste,
the night that caste the shadows of its veil upon our decayed flaws on sand,
Glory remains the struggle to embracing a sent of belonging to a homeland,
The sorcery in your eyes steals the soul, I swear by my sacred-self and the Ghoul,
The roses I once plucked withered, burning, turning, sacrifices to my widowed,
Your burdens plant upon my back the weight of the past, once thought to last
Your wounds stain my hands with the blackness of guilty blood and dirty mud
And I realize that I am utterly ignorant of the holiest meanings of purity,
that I have profaned the sacred—
and if there is possibility to piety, it will mess my sanity and rip my dignity.
Copyright © Sahar Noumi | Year Posted 2025
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Sahar Noumi Poem
I try, in despair, to condense a tale from the illusion of your specter into language.
I bleed burning tears that sprinkle salt on the wounds of my cheek, its lot deprived.
I beg you to listen to the moan of my heart in the tightening of tone in my voice and in the trembling of the lip.
I ask you for a space on a day of your choosing in which I will confess what pains me of oppression that is difficult for me to disclose.
I wish, while I blaze and shatter, drowning in the fires of a forbidden love,
a knife along the length of the smile that splits the cells and the tears,
that I might wake one time-place and not find you suffering a stifled repression.
They inspired the following to me:
I do not think anyone reached this state of awareness of misery and continued resisting. I do not claim thereby the heroism of resistance at all, for “you are compelled, brother, not a hero.” I surrender to my restraints and my limitation as merely a genetic mutation unfit for evolutionary continuation.
I surrender, by my incapacity, before the simplest of silly potentials. I surrender in my helplessness before myself.
I accept the walls of my cage that were and will remain my home.
There is no freedom for the possibility of desire to choose. I will merge with my prison until every self of me is executed in an annihilating execution with no hope of manifesting in a subsequent life. I will ensure the death of every quantum particle of me so that there is no revival of the memory of the idea, so that disappearance is the final true death.
I recall my writing about my longing for the following forms of life; by cosmic irony, by this moment I feel nothing about that.
Possibility no longer allows more. I have exhausted infinity and I will return to point zero. I will return to where I belong and do not belong, and there will be no concepts of things.
Copyright © Sahar Noumi | Year Posted 2025
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Sahar Noumi Poem
As I look in union of singularity in a world of complexe opposition and harmony.
A splinter in the heart of dream and tearing in the blood cells.
I slaughtered the necks of hopes, bleeding the burning from pains.
A mirror of dry salt-tears reflects the fracture.
And the self has nothing left but the desire to vanish the whole structure.
After long waiting and the stalling of suicide attempts
From exhaustion I feel no enough essence for two lives.
The first, in exile.
The second in the middle between a kiss of the eye
The eye that does not weep, it only stares.
Gazing to reveal contemplations about the soul’s hidden monuments,
Peering over thresholds to inspect the secrets of the universe.
I pluck out the snail of my ear; I try to listen to the echo of the hoarse voice,
Fixing my gaze on the bridge’s edge,
where the wave casts obscene images:
Of tortured bodies and heads cut off before inspiration could visit them.
Because God refused to touch them,
Yet the devil from the pit touched them.
A train without a ticket to take me where there is no memory,
No memory except that I come from afar,
And that the heart is the single meaning of iron.
Copyright © Sahar Noumi | Year Posted 2025
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