Twin ***** somewhere in you whispers live voices of a crying little girl desperate dead calls in search of her mother- Where are you mom? an old mother's bending tears find their way in the fresh soil of her 16-year old son's grave. your worried waiting at home welcomes never-invited hungry missiles with the flesh of your sleeping children here you have to wear the complex of violent red and mourning black perfume you turn back You feel the unbearable heavy shadow on your shoulders and try not to knee down by holding tight the hatred in your tired hands there - where once used to be called streets- You dont bother to solute to homeless people in meaningless search of the left over of their roots in the century-extended moments just after the gladiator game is adjourned In the corner of your sight you keep the lasting landscape where the slaughtered kiss of a torn-apart ball and an exploded drowned-in-red foot smiles to your lost childhood you look at your years-old hanged boots from the resignation wall but still watch the adds on TV come and join the army and you cant even cry (c) syavash shaghayegh june 14, 1997 return to homepage
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