
Listen to Abdulsalam A. Sh. read “Seven Days”
Day 7:
My mind is floating somewhere
between time and space.
I can’t remember
the last time
I touched my lungs,
the last time I talked
with my consciousness.
Every day I bite
my tongue
just to remember
I’m alive
Day 6:
My body is tangled in a bed
My veins are connected to a long wire,
dripping.
A maze of grey walls and blue curtains
Surrounded by whispers,
familiar voices
and unfamiliar hands
Day 5:
Everything feels out of motion today
The train, the sun, the clock, my legs
I reach home, rain myself and sink myself in bed.
I wake up in the middle of the night
and sleepwalk towards a fainting light
Day 4:
I’m having my morning coffee
with someone I barely know
I read out a poem
that I wrote a few days ago,
He doesn’t say a word
or listens to anything I say
Day 3:
I get rid of yesterday and tell myself:
Today is a great day
the sky is clear
and the haze has faded away
I go to work,
Free of all the poisons
of all the thoughts
Day 2:
Where has everyone left?
Who ripped off the windows?
What’s that blackness on the walls?
And why are the owls
hovering over my bed?
I do not know why
but I know how
A voice echoes in my head
How whales get devoured by the sea
How castles collapse by a sting of a fly
Day 1:
I’m writing a poem
about the temporality of flesh
and the immortality of words.
The doorbell rings
A person in black
stands in front of me,
uninvited.
I try to talk to him
He doesn’t say a word
or listens to anything I say!
He ignores me,
and he walks in
through the backdoor
of my mind

Abdulsalam is a Syrian poet and a freelance photographer living in Malaysia since 2013. Last year, he won Second Prize in the Migrant and Refugee Poetry Competition held annually in Kuala Lumpur. He has performed his poems in the Georgetown Literary Festival, Ilham Gallery, and Refugee Festival among other places. His poetry explores topics like exile, homeland, identity, the uncertainty of the future, his relationship with the past, and sometimes, love.