Khaloud AlMuttalibi


Amara

To my city, Amara, the city of the marshes
Slumbering rafts without a pulse
Reckless roads
Out of the wombs of the tailed passages
With their perforated coats
Loose in the lifetime of the seasons
They are the stations of our stony faces
We plowed our bodies in them to grow without homelessness
Their pale desires and

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