by Qutouf Yahia
The not yet men of my generation
I don’t like the way you trip when you walk
The way you cuss when you talk
And I sure as hell don’t condone your comic blasphemy
Cursing at your god
Cursing at your faith
بتسبو في دينكم
For your lack of vocabulary
The not yet men of my generation
Buy a belt
Preferably leather
Scratch onto it your hopes and dreams
Pull yourself up by the waist
And wear it as a metaphor of your victory
Because, truth be told
Your pants only sag as low as your parents expectations of you.
The not yet men of my generation
If I’m being harsh you should know
It’s only because you are who my brother is when I’m not around
Because you are who my son is going to have to look up to
And I’d rather he look up a bit further from the ground
The not yet men of my generation
Spare your lungs
Hold on to your breath for as long as you can
Because time will find ways to take it away
To slow it down
Allow your insides to decay on their terms
Naturally and gracefully and all in due time
The not yet men of my generation
I know that muscles don’t break
But they do strain so
Give your hearts a break from the resistance
Stop trying so hard to mask yourself with indifference
No one ever changed the world by caring too little
The not yet men of my generation
Let your knowledge be your armor
And let your weapon be your word
Because it’s your voice that wins the battle
Not the hand the holds the sword
The not yet men of my generation
Be the art that needs creation
Be a family without realtion
Be the hope that feeds this nation
The not yet men of my generation
may you be the ones that bring salvation.
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