Aya Bouaben

A class on disguised sadism 

Untitled was my name

You named me fool. 

I sat across the room

And you haunted me like a predator 

I, a prey, dragged into my doom

On the corridors, we crossed

You passed me by just to point my faults

And teach me to work hard, as if I, already, did not

I gazed too long perhaps 

Afraid of being last

And you say my fate is in my hands

But I blame it all on you

The future you say is cruel

And on the battlefield, I bid my farewell 

Your bombs eclipsed my sky

And turned my day into night

My stars into ash

And my dreams into trash.

A class on disguised sadism