“I Am Not an Electrician Who Works for the Europeans”
I am not an electrician
who wires walls for the Europeans,
who drills holes in borrowed buildings
and disappears behind their plastic shine.
I do not fix their light.
I do not hide in panels.
I do not wear their neon vests
or nod at doors that never open.
I am not a tool
in their blueprint dreams.
I am not their current,
nor their quiet machine.
I do not translate voltage
into obedience.
I do not plug in silently
to cities that forget my name.
And no –
I do not marry Europeans.
Not for passports, not for pity,
not to soften my fire into something small and smiling.
I am not a body to be signed and sealed.
Not a paper.
Not a promise.
Not your better version of me.
No.
I am the outage.
I am the flicker.
I am the storm that hums before the dark.
I am not
an electrician
who works for the Europeans.
I am
the spark
they could not
own.