There was no respite
from the repeated assaults.
When did I ask you to move
slitherly with words?
A straight delivery
was needed to refrain after
the collective suicide.
There was a conspiracy theory
that a super moon was
going to drown you
in honey.
Now you come back
to seek pardon and then
start destroying the truths
with impunity.
It was an intrigued
home coming
with braided locks.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A perfection of pages where the planes had crashed. Flat spaces populated by fragmented days sought out the wind, raised up their hands grasping, wailing in despair unheard behind the panes of glass four hours thick. For hours, and minutes the clocks ticked. And pollen floated in the air.