Of Love and Stealth
By Emma Babikwa

“do you pay regular visits to yourself?” – Rumi

I am a watcher of
stars at the precipice of combustion – 
tears of god are rings of light
before they self-detonate.

I have paced over acres (of barren land)
in the dark looking for a seat
for effervescent sons whose fathers will not love them;
wells of softness choked with sand
fierce daughters tucked in jeans with minds too big for kitchen stools.
folks whose skins are hate crimes....
souls whose bodies are not theirs.

I have become a lover of difficult things
difficult people – unresponsive spaces.
I once asked my mother if it is true that every person has
someone who was created just for them
she laughed and told me
“that is not how mathematics works –
and we cannot give things that we do not have
not love, not ourselves –
pass me the lamp and a looking glass.”

So I have had to chase myself across dewy fields
my legs leaving my knees behind – 
lonely dream catcher. 
self-loather.
I do not know what it is like to sleep
next to someone guilty
because I do not know what it is like to have a home
I do not know how to hold the hands of the person I love because I still wear a shroud of 
shame.

I came from a place
that haggles “enoughness” –
the doors are too small 
the windows too tight
but tonight, I will sleep alone
tonight, perhaps,
I will belong to the people and to the things I hold dear
tonight, perhaps,
I will belong to me.

I am Emma Babikwa, a 23 year old Ugandan male. I'm currently a student of law. I started to write as a part of my therapy assignments and it has now become part of my life. I also run a poetry blog where I write about social justice and existential issues.