Flash passing through Iqrith

Posted: September 15, 2012 in Poems in English
Tags: ,

With the eyes sunk into the should I eat the empty village piece by piece – a pious, youthful lust. Stones with life unwashed since 60 years, my feet full of ever fresh blood.

Seven stairs hanging like a snake on the wall of the church. Lianas between the columns and the sky, lulled in the myth. The cupola hasn’t finished falling, hasn’t finished rising, foundation revolving in the fresh blood.

Only the road to the cemetery is left to tell the stories of the mountains, of the graves and all the days. Every spring the road is swallowed with the air of machine-gun memories towards the Sea of Galilee.

The youth of the village have come to the resurrection mass in the cemetery: the living return, the dead return, the living and the dead of the village return to celebrate together. In between the graves fresh blood flows again.

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