Sunday, May 6, 2018

Amina, a girl

You look like what my grandmother 
would have looked like, small and contained 
like a shipment box on a rickety boat
aren't we tired yet of talking about the sea?

maybe we are but we are still unable 

to find dry land, because drier lands breed 
no future, just bucket-loads of dust 
that piles to become make-shift houses 

scary, isn't it? These thoughts coming from everywhere

and nowhere. From a lack of sleep 
that characterizes itself in heavy eyelids 
matching creativity

Amina, the name is a story

like my grandmothers' 
to keep you awake
a child gets reaped

by will or by war

this is a story that births itself 
in my water-filled lungs 

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