Barbican Young Poets 2019-20
Amani Saeed
'Xinjiang'
Xinjiang
British Muslim woman (n). - one who
cannot win the argument between
society and one’s own
community.
Uighur (n), - A Turkic ethnic minority
group, of which a million members
are confined in concentration camps
for the crime of being Muslim.
I’m looking at my bare feet. Size 5 — small for a girl’s, my mother said, and ugly,
like all feet are, with cream crusted tips and wind-chapped skin and
nails with chipped polish,
nails flecked with fungus,
so appalling, they’re mesmerising. Back then, I would wear her shoes. Coral
pumps, burnished oxfords, leopard print heels. Leather trainers crisscrossed with
neon laces. White platform shoes, never let the ground touch you shoes, walk like
Jesus shoes, I-am-the-shit shoes. But today, my feet are
socked. They drown in thick wool,
burrow themselves into the carpet,
painted nails wriggling
bare. They kiss the rude concrete,
slide like pigs rolling in muck,
toes slurping shit and vomit
sinfully, unwashed, unclean. I have become the dirt beneath god’s fingernails, a
sin cowering beneath the whitewashed ceiling, a stain. There is no space to pray
for forgiveness when
the imam nitpicks the soul from prayer
and the women squeeze together to fit
and every bismillah is fraught with guilt
the floor is awash in a tide of filth
and the guard slips into me every night
and the very air recoils from me
and I can’t know which way to bow my head when there is no sun to show which
way is
East in a windowless women’s section
and the Imam’s tinny athan
West in a windowless prison block
and the sound of crisp Mandarin
rolls from the intercom and bounces its cadence into my dhikr, a stray rosary
bead. I ask myself which way astronauts pray in space. Can god hear you in
space? Can god hear you from
a square of carpet
as long as a mother’s body,
in a mosque in East London
a cell
as tall as a slouch,
in an invisible camp
whose walls beat closer than your jugular vein?
About Amani Saeed
Amani Saeed is an international spoken word artist and writer whose work brings the big issues to your kitchen table. She explores the crisis cultivated by living between sometimes (but not always) contradictory cultures, treading the line between masjid and mini skirt. The curator of spoken word nights The Hen-nah Party, she has worked with Richmix, the Roundhouse, the BBC, and the Huffington Post, among others. Amani’s poetry has been described as ‘electric,’ ‘strident,’ and ‘brave.’ Her debut collection, Split, was published with Burning Eye Books in 2018 and she is currently working on the short film Queer Parivaar.
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