"Looking at you"
Y. Misdaq

Jelatine Jux,
I was stationary in the midst of the London rush,
whilst they bartered viciously for position and ranking through placement,
I was graffiti in the basement, breathing.
They sweat, even the creatives sweat.

Wrangled and confused like fashion,
Their hair will be ridiculous next autumn.

From Mars came SARS, as it languishes on door handles.
trying to spread its love and liberation to us.
We listen, but don't understand,
We're children being told off by mothers not serious.
Our saxophone solo dances through the warnings,
Good times, HAD times, and lands in the middle of contemporary ideals.
Lost and languishing.
Being sandwiched and gambling,
rushing for first place towards the exit sign that sadly just refers to the station of trains.
Alone we remain, we place the hand on the window, but unable to touch the only people we know.
Beckham and Coldplay turn grey outside the window.

You have never slept.
Yet your energy is jerking and clenching,
as you try hard to remove graffiti.
Why are you removing the graffiti?
To which piece of individuality do you object?
Your face is pale and there are red marks on your neck.

African woman, your child is beautiful.

I'd like to sleep but they pump iced mocha into your blood through the taxi-fumes.
I'd like to make them pay,
but once there were millions of us in London and they wouldn't listen anyway.
Chart-music infects the day,
the sounds of perverts licking the subways,
And now I'm going underground.

By Y. Misdaq
© 2003 Y. Misdaq & Nefisa.co.uk All rights reserved.