To Breathe in a World Without Air
By Ali Mattar
In a world without air, where breath is a chain
A prison of silence, a place of deep pain.
The walls close in tighter with each passing day,
A suffocating reality, dreams swept away.
Here, time moves like shadows, relentless and still,
A heartbeat in prison, no comfort, no thrill.
The air is a whisper, so shallow and thin,
Yet each breathe is a battle, a war fought within.
The bars are not metal, but memories of grace,
A soul once unfettered, now lost in this space.
They try to break spirits, to crush what’s alive,
To silence the will that dares to survive.
Yet even in darkness, there flickers a flame,
A whisper of courage, unbroken by shame.
For though the air’s stolen and hope feels worn,
The human spirit is never fully torn.
In a world without air, the breath still remains,
Though muffled, it pulses, despite all the chains.
In prison’s cold grip, the heart beats its fight,
Refusing to vanish in the stillness of the night.
Concrete Circus
By Ali Mattar
In the heart of the city, behind iron walls,
A circus unfolds where the steel bell calls.
The clowns are dressed in uniforms tight,
Correctional staff, putting on their fight.
Beneath the harsh lights, where shadows creep,
The animals stir, the silent ones we keep.
Behind bars they pace, their lives on display,
AIC*, the performers, their spirits at bay.
The animal handlers, the guards in their post,
Whip and command, they give what they boast.
With steely eyes, they crack the whip’s sound,
Leading the creatures in circles around.
The audience watches with e y e s full of glee,
From the sidelines, their faces are free.
Fans of the spectacle, they cheer, and they jeer,
But behind all the noise, we live in fear.
The arena is concrete, the stakes are high,
No acrobat’s flips, no trapeze to fly.
Just cages and walls, the silence and sound,
A circus that traps us, all the way down.
The clowns laugh and juggle, their tricks all the same,
As the animals tremble, but none speak the name.
The public, they cheer, as the show plays its part,
But behind every act, a broken heart.
So here in the circus, where shadows run deep,
We dance in the silence, we beg and we weep.
A show in the concrete, for all to behold,
A tale of the trapped, the forgotten, the cold.
*AIC= Adults in custody.
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