Warmth by Yousef Nayef

I stand alone at the bus stop looking for a tree
one just right for my arms
not too cold, not too rough

but I can’t touch it today either
I’ll simply return home, listen to Radiohead,
and sleep through the afternoon
then I’ll wake up at night and sketch that tree

I never use colors
cause I can’t differentiate between green and red
so drawing trees is difficult

the bus ride I take is too fast for my eyes
that look through the window waiting for the right tree
it calls my name every day, but I never saw it
and my name seems to be the tree’s name, not mine
because the tree says Yousef so softly
it cracks my heart open and then closes it

every night I stare at the ceiling with my lips shut
sucking the night in my body like a sponge

that’s how I try to love my name

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