#15: The Flame Went Out

By Halima Abukar

Photo by Halima Abukar

There are these white dotted lines that run parallel to vehicles that guide heavy machinery in safeguarding a person — making sure that our clumsiness does not kick in at the worst of moments. This is moving. Look here, pay attention. It’s writing your letters along the dotted line, here are the letters you’ve never written before, the road you’ve driven before, except now you’re on different land, in a country that does not belong to you.

And here are the mountains, the rivers, the valleys. No, you don’t get to gawk at or look in bewilderment at them, for here is nature lost amongst the streets. Here, there are no trees, and if there are, they are sparse. Here are the animals that are killed, here is nature in its most predatory and violent state, here is life in its most vulnerable state; they are dead, and lying alone.

Here is blood, tracked through tires, that you mindlessly wash with a hose from your home the next morning. Here is a truck, here you are holding in your breath, here are your sweaty hands, here is a speed you’ll never be able to travel at by foot. Here are miles that you’ve never been able to cover by walking alone, here you are, walking alone, on the side of a highway, there is traffic and you’re able to sell the beautiful sugarcanes that gratefully grow from your yard. Thank God for this, you say, and you carry the bag on your shoulder and maneuver between cars to make rent. Is this being a thief? Selling what nature bore to you? If you sell the fruit, you are a thief. You don’t know and you don’t care about the ethical matters of this business, you are hungry and that doesn’t feel ethical. Why should they be full when you are hungry? Why should love bore loss? Why should beautiful days beget fearful nights? 

Come here, look at this person, they are missing teeth and are using their tongue to speak. There is no life without living so they stop picking ice so peace could be theirs. Here is battle, here is wound, here is lying awake at night– we welcome and forgive, and look at each other, joyous and kind. Here is a wrinkled hand, a ring on the index finger, here you are holding it, and finding yourself, when it brushes your cheek, to be at ease. Here are miles you’ve never walked before, here is a candle, waxing away, its silhouette against yours, the shadow is cast. It is over your room, but soon, over your life. Here is time, at your mother’s feet and valuable at your friend’s expense.

Why should beautiful days, then, beget fearful nights? Love doesn’t bore loss, but hope.

Let’s dream of cheesecloths that separate the ill-willed and the persevering, the faithful and faithless. Let’s turn our souls over, let’s lie in repose when hardship is discovered. Look at the fireflies and stop cutting grass, please, so we can walk miles before we sleep, soundlessly. Let’s use a finger and a thumb to quantify how many people will eat pasta with us for dinner tonight. Let’s wonder how the yellow stripe that separates left and right dries, let’s eat together, our stomachs satiated and our laughs endless. Let your hip be my hip; let me rest my leg on yours; let our elbows loop close and infinite. 

Let’s walk to the street that I live on and mark the dead end with life. We are winded by our words so let’s remove them, let’s call each other names that honor and rid ourselves of cups so you can let me, then, drink water from the palm of your hands, and you, mine.