Hiba Mansuri
“Nostalgia is a killer,”
As some people say,
It makes us beg
For to be sent back to what was safe.
A time when the sun was warm,
Instead of hot.
When the sky was blue,
Instead of white.
When the grass was soft,
Where you would lie
And be embraced in safe hands.
“Nostalgia is a killer”
And it’s true
It makes us beg
It makes us fall on our knees.
It makes us long for a time long gone,
It steals our breath
Until we are gasping and lying
Curled up on the ground.