A Poem by Maryam Alsaeid

Becoming the Prayer

Some nights when I am flat and resentful
(wishing God made me another way)
I cannot bring myself to sit on the prayer mat

my limp limbs cannot fold
and sajda* needs a head that submits;
remembers itself in the tapestry of dead things

I hear a voice: you, my dear
are not holy. you are too hungry for the world
to be holy – too insincere for this position,

you are meant to be, out there
changing the world, not chained by ideals
and the rhetoric of holiness,

no hands need cupping,
you cannot bottle a prayer nor keep it
so, bend, melt and be that wick that burns

remind the night you have come to illuminate it

*Sujūd Arabic: سُجود, is the act of low bowing or prostration to God

Maryam Alsaeid is a Manchester-based poet and pharmacist exploring healing, identity, and female empowerment. She holds an MA in Creative Writing from MMU, where she worked with Carol Ann Duffy and Andrew McMillan. She has won Carol Ann Duffy’s Christmas poetry prize and leads writing workshops promoting wellbeing and women's voices.