“A Thirst-bot named Istiqfar” by Khashayar Mohammadi
A Thirst-bot named Istiqfar
sinkholes for thought, swept clean
half my life has been apologies to the left behind
so I pathologize
What if I starve myself so rivers can grow
cracked riverbed thirsting
am not here I am thirsting
earning that inner monologue
a reverie!
brb in 5
amidst catastrophe
WHAT IF I’VE MADE ALL THAT UP?
I begin with sugar
unable to suture
a series of disappearances
a milligram left to the sunrise
halfway between mainlining the divine
and that oceanic feeling:
a reverie!
brb in 5
there were poems of war
because they’re always there
in an imaginative enough geography
religion too can be libidinous
words richochet
shrapnel map the scar tissue into homelands
how hopelessly sentimental
the infinite as counter-currency
and our circumcised will:
a reverie!
AFK
Rome Athens Jerusalem.
tribal acquisition
unlearning
while lashing at the Hellespont
I doubt if Xerxes imagined
houses raised in Academia
facing actualities, we too break the desired
and write autonomously
(can I picture Muhammad in my mind? is that an unlawful summon?)
search search search until eyes are tired
AFK
brb in 5
I spit on circumstance
but it lubricates your understanding
(Fair enough)
the thief’s hand: the aestheticized
our thread’s been trending
I leave the screen to watch Edward Said on my phone
come back to a Thirst Bot Named Istiqfar
Sömêtîmės thèrè árë nö håppy ëndings. Nö mättèr what, I’ll bë lõsîng sômêthing
Orientalism at the algorithmic echelon
and within fiction: the scholar’s plight for the implicit
a scene set:
EXTERIOR—THE ANCIENT RUINS—DAY (voiced by the militia)
Wê sèê õūr dârknėss às á prízéd possession Withöůt mërcy öur dårknèss would plúnge üs înto déspâir
and the wandering scholar as the measuring stone
at the very heart of the bazaar
no matter the speaker, the audience remains heterodox
hear hear you tension-less being!
you playful heart of the struggle!
to you… we were an occasion
They cannot represent themselves
the subterranean speaks
They must be represented BUT
“My people” are dis(re)puted atm
caught between two fictions
(currently named the “Middle”)
What I need is the dandelion in thë spring. The bright Zéllow thát means rêbirth instead of destruction*
“Me too”
a reverie
AFK
check back in 5
—
NOTE: Lines written in Courier font are spam messages from a thirst-bot.
nina jane drystek on “A Thirst-bot named Istiqfar” by Khashayar Mohammadi
Combining the languages of academia, the internet and inner monologue Khashayar Mohammadi’s poem delves into the spiraling cycle of our interconnected hyperreality. Its structure, like identity, colonialism, culture and thirst bots, keeps us off-kilter, invites us to come back, dive deeper in search of algorithmic meaning, and reminds us to indulge reverie.
Khashayar “Kess” Mohammadi (he/they) is a queer, Iranian born, Toronto-based Poet, Writer and Translator. They are the author of four poetry chapbooks and three translated poetry chapbooks. Their debut poetry collection Me, You, Then Snow is out with Gordon Hill Press.