The Horror Persists [ Afia Ayman ]

When I was five, fear came to me
as a colony of monsters, living under my bed.
The furred, clawed, hidden beasts
spoke to me in a language that I never fully grasped.

As I grew older, fear unveiled itself
in countless forms and shapes.
Fear came to me as a ruthless father
the footsteps, the scolding, the torture
all of it made my blood run cold.

Fear came to me as a kind mother,
whose strength was the silence
swallowing herself wholly leaving no traces behind.

Fear came to me as my still reflection in the mirror,
whose only way to survive was patience,
whose fear was a love that stayed too long.

As I tried to make peace with my fears,
it laughed at me, mercilessly.
I opened my window for a fresh breath.
But outside, the whole world was already on fire.

Just when I thought fear was malicious enough,
it arrived as a beheaded baby.
A woman’s lifeless body dangling from a branch,
her dignity torn by the hands of her own kind.

Fear went above and beyond,
spilling blood like it’s nothing.
I slammed my window shut,
hoping to escape the horror.
But fear was already bone-deep
forcing me to bear its monstrosity.

The beasts under my bed were simple creatures,
who merely traded dark for daylight.
Whereas mankind made greater deal,
traded lives for gold, grain and hollow lands.

The End