Poetry Showcase from Hibah Shabkhez

Fevers of the Mind

Know, Please, That We Know Nothing

Before your just-shrouded head, in the first
Numb hours, the brain's pencils are already
Out, sharpened and scribbling. Straining to burst,
   Finding itself sewn into words instead,
Her heart, which would fain break in peace and thirst
Until obliterated, curses them
   For doing so.

Her mouth twists and barks, drawn by self-contempt  
   Into a crooked sneer. Self-written all, 
To our own secret shame, we must attempt
As we watch, to not understand this dread
We know, to not see why she is laughing
And bidding your still, shrouded head
   Turn and laugh too.

  Reason Enough Why is happiness not reason enough For the doing of things? Because the tough, The dreary, the harder-to-do we deem More worth our while. Because we cannot seem To be made of quickly soaked, shallow stuff Like tissue paper. So we must be gruff, Leatherly, even to our own…

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