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Book Two

The Darkness of Silver Lights
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POTOCARI


Rivers of us flowed in

from all directions.

Crying women and children,

drained elders,

groups of lost, distraught young men.

The July heat and clouds of enemies' lead,

built a nest

above the heads of innocent people.

 

We rushed,

drowning in the dust of dry soil,

as if we wanted to run into the arms of light

so as to escape the sharp sword

of the guilty,

the villain,

who decides with hate

that the heads of men can no longer exist, precisely

there on our soil.

 
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EVIL ON THE FEZ


Baba,

I dreamt again tonight,

and there you were.


Walking to me down the alley,

returning from Salat Jummah,

a smile on your face,

a treat in your hand,

but instead of an adornment hanging from your fez

a black snake hung there.

 

I woke up in grief,

with a spasm in my heart.


It wasn't the first time...