the house: a poem by furqan mohamed

the house

furqan mohamed

they say when a system fails,
it’s as if there are termites in a house
eating away at it
destroying the foundation, the walls
creeping up the staircases and the halls
until, not long
after
everything is inhabitable

a house serves as a neat metaphor
for systems of power that often fail and crumble

for reasons undisclosed by ...

well, let’s call them the butlers
or better yet

the upholders
the ones who uphold the pillars of supremacy and oppression that’s vile
all the while having a smile motioning us to a welcome mat stitched and fixed with the skin of our ancestors
so pardon me for thinking the problems of this house go way beyond termites

there’s poor lighting in this house,

too dark for anything to grow except resentment

nothing good ever is created in this house, the foods all bland and filled with empty promises

i can taste it

the attic is filled with secrets,

the cupboards ever so full, drowning whoever dares to open them with its contents,

so we shut them

allowing them to become someone else’s problem

this house is dying

but what if I told you that there are no termites

no insects running a coup or takeover

that this house, the one you want me to mourn so badly was already a mess