Noor Hindis digt Fuck Your Lecture on Craft, My People Are Dying

15.05.2024 | digte

Lidt browsen rundt på nettet og jeg faldt over det her digt aptly named "Fuck Your Lecture on Craft, My People Are Dying".

Jeg har nogle forbehold over for den slags. Feks. så jeg samme sted jeg fandt det her digt, et digt a la: "fuck you, Bush" x 4. Digte må gerne være politiske. Det skal bare ikke være af den slags hvor man er enig eller uenig, og så er den ikke længere. Der skal være noget sprog der gnaver en i hjernen. Ligesom her, du:

Colonizers write about flowers. I tell you about children throwing rocks at Israeli tanks seconds before becoming daisies. I want to be like those poets who care about the moon. Palestinians don't see the moon from jail cells and prisons. It’s so beautiful, the moon. They're so beautiful, the flowers. I pick flowers for my dead father when I’m sad. He watches Al Jazeera all day. I wish Jessica would stop texting me Happy Ramadan. I know I’m American because when I walk into a room something dies. Metaphors about death are for poets who think ghosts care about sound. When I die, I promise to haunt you forever. One day, ll write about the flowers like we own them.

You know it is so when you walk into a room dying like the rest. Sindssygt godt digt!

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