Part I –
June 2018: Palestinians protested at the border for the 70th anniversary of the Naqba (catastrophe) which signified when Israel forced hundreds of Palestinians from their homes. These protests went on for months. Layla was number 59

We are trapped inside *** an open air prison.
***** The only safe place / is within the womb /
Inside the womb, a fire burns, knowing what it once carried,

*********************************************************************** has left the earth.

Oh mamma of martyrdom/17 year old/not quite girl/but barely woman,
whose second born Layla, is named ‘beauty of the night.’

You ask, is it too much? for your second to be laid next to your first, who burned to
death, _{from a small flame}, that lit the dark room
******************There has been no illumination in your eyes,
since the souls that you held inward, have continued,
********without your reach.

Even when we light a candle, it s W a l l o W s someone.
Even when the baby cries
for its’ mother,
or in search of her, it g a s p s soon after.
There is no wrinkle of remorse
from those who turned off the lights,
from those who aimed
at the smallest human.

All that she did was protest
*** silently, *** rightfully, *** peacefully
for their freedom. *** For our truth *** that we have hide
behind, *** but do not walk ***** in ***** front ***** of.
We are no martyrs, just watchers.
The daughter of the night
was not born for battle,
just born within the battlefield.

Layla, eight months old,
one hundred sixty nine days***** 1 6 9
in a war zone.
*** Eyes cracked O p e N ********** as she searched for her mother ********** one last time;
Only to return back
to the One that created her, and her mother’s soul.
She awaits His Gardens,
where she will meet her brother.
and he will touch ********** her tender face ********** for the first time.

Part II –
Brown women can’t leave,
can’t go back,
Back like black;
when black women
couldn’t have babies;
Couldn’t have babies
like unarticulated birth control
masked as immunization.
No black babies,
always an enigma.
Black woman
can’t have baby;
Baby stays with God;
God then welcomes back
brown baby;
Brown baby
that died alive;
Alive are the mothers’ screams;
Alive is the non-violent protest;
Alive are those in cages.
Cages contain our people;
People were once our babies,
Caged are the babies;
Babies die before
they enter the womb;
Babies die after
they exit the womb;
The womb is
the only safe prison;
The only prison
that has mercy.
Womb in Arabic is rehm,
rehm derived from
its’ root RA HA MA;
Ra ha ma then
becomes rehma;
rehma means mercy;
Maybe mercy is taking
the life of a baby,
so they don’t
have to go from
prison to cage;
Maybe mercy
is not letting
black babies
exist in the womb
in the rehm.
Because outside
the rehm – everyday
they will die —
a slow death.
Death is the
brown baby
on the news;
Death is the
final cry of
their mothers;
Death is living
in the realm
without feeling;
Maybe death,
death is life.

***

Fariha Tayyab is a multidisciplinary artist hailing from Houston. As a writer and photographer, her work revolves around the themes of identity and social justice. Fariha’s poetry and creative nonfiction are published in a variety of journals and publications. She has facilitated workshops with many programs, including the University of Iowa’s International Writing Program. Fariha has received awards and grants for her artistry, mentored emerging artists, and built community through local organizations.