Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Reem, a gazelle

Where do we start to avoid the question?
one cannot simply do it, can he? even the ends of sentences have their issues

in the desert we start, sits the gazelle
eyes, gleaming with pure green, the color of what she cannot have

even the gazelle knows the sources of the water
take me to where it starts to rain amid the thistle and the snake's tale

a tale of a tail, one for love and another for money
there is much that goes on at the belly of a monster

but hold, nothing but a deer in a desert, slow-cooking in the hunter's eye.
Reem, my deer held nothing more but maternal comfort in the sniper's viewfinder.

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