Euphoria

Collage by Meg.

i lie here again

sharpening a still little blade of grass 

with the memories of our youth. 

it feels to me like the muddied waters with which we were fed, 

we could only swallow in the name of god,

or someone, or something that we could not remember,

we could not remember, we could not remember

because we were not there. 

we were grown even when we weren’t, only to be harvested to be squished and brewed into the finest rain, 

from my eyes,

from your eyes,

so, we too, could quench our seed with a water so muddy, so tainted that it would overflow their pots,

make them overgrow their pain,

as well…

as we;

lick,

   lick, 

      lick, 

only another lick to get to heaven dear, 

only another lick of salty water,

only another lick of myrrh.

i raged, in a silent mussitation of belief,

in a quiet prayer to the stars

asking for a little more gleam,

a tiny bit more light, 

and maybe then,

my still little blade of grass could grow high,

and strong,

and still

enough to cut the water, the whetstone of our youth,

once again 

once more

at least. ◆

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Shaima is a 20-year-old, Moroccan-Spanish university student with a passion for literature and art. She mainly writes poetry and short fiction, with a dreamlike and adventurous style. Find her on Instagram.