He remembers his name,
Not his age, claim or gods.
Poetry and family may be lost,
but his ancestral name
haunting and concrete,
flows in his breath,
with force and fright
against denial and doubt
.
He remembers his name to frame
How it felt to be a man, a father, a son,
How it felt to love and want and lose,
How he will recite his name again and again,
Until every ear bears the burden of his fame
.
He remembers his name
…to map country and duty.
…to find dinner and family
…to warm his bed and fancy
.
He remembers his name to forgive and embrace
What he cannot count,
What he cannot have,
What he cannot face
.
He remembers his name so that I,
his accountant and mistress,
Will know how to find him
under his final stony address
.
Remember his name,
Ruwaidan bin Ashraf bin Jawad al-Khalidi.
