Despite my not feeling pain again
I still experience pain
for example
in my hand
which follows its pain alone
as if one of them
cut the electrics between me and my limbs
as if
he has imprisoned me outside them
and pretends to forget
that he has taken it from within me
or he takes it far
so you won’t see
what I will feel pain for simply for his sake

/

I do not turn to stone
having been here for twenty years
my hand doesn’t turn to stone
nor my eyes and soul
despite the storm of cement
and lack of pity

/

no one tucked me in when in prison
at night,
Mama,
except God
except the breaths of God
who like a lost gazelle
is dragged along the ground, every night
by sixty swarthy hunters
to my cell
so they can eat
a meal of deprivation

/

they opened my eyelids with tongs and knives
they revive the covers from their stupor with cold water
from a bucket
of copper
my eyes which no longer see
except
black and white
like a primitive eye
like a closed eye
except I was ok with that
that was the reason for the obscuring of my sight
but I was ok
with the other parts
and what was left
of the other life
and what was left
was like a person
whose heart became hard in front of the sea
to be certain about
the screams of the drowning
except that
in reality
it was sufficient
and in the end
so that we can pat,
my eye and I,
the shoulders of some of us

/

I feel pain in this innocent hand
as it festers
it gives out the smell of sulphur
it falls apart
like the flow of a river
strangled
with bodies
saddled
with rocks
of hope

/

I feel pain in this innocent hand
it cannot not repel harm
I feel pain
but it doesn’t understand
the meaning of harm
like a child
frightened
who they release
in the night
alone
in the woods

/

Worms drop to the floor
small quick worms
of wounds
large
and slow
I feel pain in my hand
it cannot lift these worms from the ground
and return them
to their heart
beating
between
finger
and
thumb

/

I do not see its pain
in this hated place of mine
I do not know it
but I feel great pain
as if one of them
played a last film
for my hand which has gone
so it can learn alone

/

I feel pain
because my hand
has got bigger
like this
quickly

/

And thus I live here
I’m scared I will die
and my hand will remain
in agony
falling apart
around me

After the third day in solitary confinement, the natural sense of being aware of time was no longer possible. With the floor’s area not being more than four metre square and surrounded by walls smeared with blood, there wasn’t much to do except wait for who knows how long or observe my neighbours/ partners living with me.

Rats were the first partners who offered their welcomes to me: a new lodger in the space it appeared they had set up for their future family. With time their presence became comforting until I used to miss them when they went to visit their relatives in the neighbouring cells.

Sometimes I would sit squatting in one of the corners of our shared house – “our cell” – whilst they would languish on the rusty pipes sticking out all over the place from the ceiling. We would spend hours keeping up. Sometimes they appeared bothered by something and they would cut short our company and hide behind the pipes and I would start following the sounds of their footsteps around the roof. Then they would leave the cell across the hole in the top of the cell only for them to return after a short while bearing booty. It seemed that their food was plentiful most of the times as they took the largest share of the food intended for prisoners.

The torture room was literally behind the door to my cell. The smell of blood would reach me all the time. During the rounds of torture which occurred three times daily I stayed in my cell counting the blows of the whip upon the bodies of those screaming in pain outside. At a certain stage of the torture to stop myself screaming like them I closed my eyes and pressed my hands to my ears and I began to sing with a trembling voice.

During the rounds of torture the rats usually hid. While I would sing, a thought occurred to me, and so with one eye open I used to look for them above the pipes but they were never there. I thought they must be hanging about somewhere closing their eyes and ears and singing. This is more merciful than witnessing the death of one or more persons under torture.

Once I woke up feeling something strange in my hand. When I opened my eyes, one of the rats was standing right in front of my face and another was standing on my hand licking it.

I threw the rat from my hand and jumped straight up screaming. The rats fled and climbed to their throne above the door which the prison guard opened shouting at me, “What’s there? Haven’t I told you I do not want to hear your voice.”

I pointed to above the door. When he saw the rats, he looked at me with disgust and muttered, “You’re frightened of rats!” I remained silent then he added, “Whoever fears rats doesn’t deserve to ask for freedom!” He turned his back to me and slammed the door behind him.

That last sentence of his was really funny. I looked at the rats who in turn looked at me asking, “What’s freedom got to do with rats?”

That family of rats was my friends during my imprisonment then I was released. I knew the rats were the reason for my freedom, as I caught influenza from them and was on the verge of death. So the officer responsible decided to release me so I wouldn’t die with them.