Thursday, January 14, 2016

The boy in the picture outside the house

The smile, no ease
there is sadness between wooden cupboards
like dust, take it out to find it piling up again 
slowly, over the counters in the house 
where one slept, ate, thought 
this is the extension of glory 
that now the walls talk about bluntly 

without need to seek advice from the inhabitant
the house talks, for this is not a cobweb 
that can be blown out by being blown in 
this is cement poured in, poured out 
a few hours after dusk, all dust

the rooms talk well of their inhabitants
the rooms leave space for the clothes 
piled, unworn, unwashed on the shelves
kept to cover up his bones in the winter

enough talk about the boy, the deaf
ears cannot do anything to one who hung 
his smile by the door and went to school; 
like yesterday, like tomorrow, like any other day 

there will be a return that is set for later- 
four months later, covered- iced
the boy. His smile will take care 
of the house, of the mother, of the father 
while the Quran plays in the room 
the dates are distributed and coffee, 
of course for the better, 
for the bitter occasions.  

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