SAIFULLAH AL-MASLUL

The deepest shrines within my heart
are trespassed by your war machines.
Everyday and every night…
I am shaken by your boots.
Your boots that walk to and fro…
on the hallowed grounds within my head,
violating the sanctity.
The tombs of heroes in my heart…
are stepped upon by trespassers;
and I... here… powerless…
raise my hands to the sky…
begging…
If life is the one that castigates…
then make me life. I offer you…
my whole being inside out.
Crush me and then rebuild me
as a walking weapon for the weak…
Take me, break me;
then remake me.
I yearn to be the hand of justice
that never shakes, that never trembles.
Make me your unsheathed sword, heavens…
that paints justice with the color red.
Or make me the tray on which is served…
every trespasser's severed head.