POSTED 01/10/2018 14:15
It's the secret of life
To die, with blood flowing in your veins
We lost a sister to the songs in her throat
We knew she would not survive the whips
From nights when the moon burns her pride to ashes
And days when the sun mocks the radiance in her eyes
On many faces are birds with broken nest
Flying to the ends of the earth- where death is the only hope of bodies,
Running from their own body.
Somewhere in this verse
Is a boy burning with cold fire into strange tongues
His father was the man you met on your way home - walking on his head
The man you saw numbering his days, with sad numerals
The man who said God exist only in fictions, folklores, and in non-existing worlds.
Life is a sorcerer; her languages are too complex to be spoken by women, yet to die with their seeds growing in them.
This song are the dirges
- in the mouths of boys who murdered themselves and ran away
- girls, in the confluence where blood and history met
- in the tales of a father with ten sons, having none
- mothers, seeking the life in a world different from theirs
There's a voice calling you home in poems like this
Skate on their surfaces - it's god's art in dark places
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