Art by Wanda Fraga Sanchez

I was

dancing in your storm

A crimson dance

red mirages covered my eyes

from the distant vision of an unknown reality

My valley sank deep into your oblivion

The skies have withered to pale milk

I scrape the skulls buried in sand

Your silent eyes speak a thousand stories

A thousand images of a thousand kings;

but in these sands they hold no glory

Only the death of a lover’s zeal

echoing screams

Of wives

trudging the mires of unmoving time.


You are their priest

iron wrist and iron breath,

fierce and hungry;

an unloving commander.

I dream of it.

In my moments of peace

A better place

in the fields beyond the fire

Where Mercy washes our eyes

and rivers temper our burns  

from the power of infinite suns.

Slowly,

our torn hearts mend

with the scent of Autumn.

But dreams are dust

and you sing to the sand

And I

I’m but a faded memory

that dances to your command.


by Nasmi Hosein

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