Hussein Kassim

It's Not My Fault

As the hot wind blew, and the child’s golden coiffure looked dry
But all my money was kaput, and the hot sun wouldn't let me cry
Should I have left the child to find his way back home?
Because deep in the desert is what they call home.
I don’t know how I got here, maybe I had been deported in my dreams
The child hadn't spoken; all there was were silent screams

I shouldn't have helped a stranger
I couldn't even tak

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