I come from somber places, sit in dark rooms
follow darkness until I reach
balconies of light on the foreheads
of soldiers, warriors, mothers, children
after years of war, one after the other
like waves repeating the same motions-
Yugoslavia, Armenia or Chechnya...
and I wonder if death remains close
as the drops of blood that stain the asphalt,
wonder if the mind, the heart
of those held captive by tanks
and the eyes of greed know a beauty
where guns and flowers live together
as if nature were a weapon against man.
I keep my prayers in a dark ditch bed
between crippled bridges and think, how
curious, birds flutter when they see the darkness
of our laps, think, what a pity.
Phrases that can't seem to escape dark worlds
we can't leave.