barbwire shadow the pain
of loneliness
as the smoke of truncheon and smell
of powered capture the air
find me the hope of incense
showered the darkness of cloth that
hover in my tears,
for nothing stay than a bullet in the
flesh
sway away the guest
of silent voice
the hall touches blood on the wall
of pain where can be the color
of red mingle than
to sleep in the day where
I was born
'a poem dedicated to the beloved people of Palestine'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem