Suicide Bride I Poem by Ida Mustazir

With you we are ten.
with ten fingers you clasp
believing vague nobility to grasp

We off from this pier.
on the float we look to each other
people we never encounter

Forty angels of neverland.
ask you for gutter flowers to detonate
what scattered hopes can donate

To feast the fear.
the debris is celebration confetti
a piercing explosion to catty

Who soon be forgotten.
faith denied in dropp of memory to fade
from the suicide bride's last crusade

(post Ritz-Marriott bombing 17 July 2009)