Salsabila Nurhidajat
oil on canvas


Salsabila Nurhidajat
Mother Earth

There was a time
when I danced
through space in orbit
and painted the stars in
vivid shades of green and blue
that burst and sighed with the the breath of time.

But now there’s a dust in my lungs,
and I can’t remember the last time I breathed
can’t remember the last time I drank or ate
without coughing up
that catches on my teeth,
that tears me apart from the inside out,
or thick oil that coats
my veins in poison,
staining my blood with ripples of shimmering gray
that pour out of their machines in waves.
I can only watch as they tread upon my skin,
trek between the valleys of my palms,
and scale my scarred mountains,
all while urging my beloved children
to race towards extinction
and die in their nets and hooks.
All I can do is stumble in my dance,
melting and burning and dying
as they dig and drill into my bones
searching for the brilliant jewels and
black ichor I’ve kept so well hidden for millennia.
They cover their ears so they
can’t hear my pierced screams
as they set my flesh ablaze with angry roses in full bloom.
Day by day,
they strip me down to my molten core
and build me back up in layers of concrete and glass
where they hide,
ignorant to my pain.
There’s dust in my lungs dust on my skin dust in my air
And I can’t breath no matter how hard I try.

Please stop.
I beg them,
my voice cascading down
in turbulent winds and tumbling shelves of ice.
For I know that they are the only ones
who can heal my lungs, my bones, my tired wounds,
and help me paint the stars
in strokes of vivid green and blue once again.


Salsabila Nurhidajat
oil on canvas



Salsabila Nurhidajat
oil on canvas