It’s not murder that I dread.

Not even a tragic end.

Nor this door being blown down outright,

or them storming in at midnight,

their naked guns in full sight.

No.

Not festering wounds, streams of blood,

or the wall dotted with fragments of my skull.

What I fear the most, I have to say,

is fear per se:

that devious and elusive thing,

that in a twinkling

can sneak in,

whispering deluding excuses—temptingly fancy,

while stealthily injecting weakness and despondency

into the inner pores of my soul.

That elegant, eye-catching thing

luring me into watching its glaring blade.

And once, for a second or two,

I am dazzled by the glow,

it slips in,

splitting me into two:

A half up there—in its illusionary world,

dying twice.

And a half down here,

half dead.

You are destined to die—and so are they.

No one is exempt.

So voice your rejection right here!

Out there, your defiant voice will come out,

pretty strong and vocal.

Die here,

to live there!

-Sudanese poet Kamal Elgizouli