To My sister
After oppression;
I come back to live
With a rusty wound,
With a whisper like a moan,
With a tense empathy,
With an amputated spontaneity,
Thus I turn my back,
When I want
To hold you tight,
Forgive me love,
I wish I could put
My hand on your head,
Kiss your finger tips
And neck,
But I am only a remain
Of a wound,
That came back
From oppression time,
To a time they name
‘Amends’,
Can a glass
Be amended
After you break? !
Jeddah,1990
(from my first book Women with Wings)
published in poemhunter in
7 April 2013
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