Red earth on my hands,
clang and dust cover the light,
the grave waits for all.

Flicker of the screen,
a slipper balanced in protest,
we were never them.

Turkish bread and tea,
your smile returns with olives,
soft chicken, warm gums.




Bahroon at your feet,
gentle touch against the pain,
morning birds still sing.

Nights of tapping feet,
we rubbed heels to ease the ache,
your prayers unseen.

Moon hides in silence,
time slips quicker than we know,
ashes speak of you.
Crowds march in the street,
voices rise against the fall,
history repeats.

I regret the ask,
coins for a broken phone line,
your voice never clear.

Rage before the plane,
your eyes heavy with protest,
departure too soon.

​​​​​​​

Children’s echoes ring,
those memories cling like dust,
sweetness laced with grief.

A rock in the storm,
you bore the weight we could not,
your silence remains.

The pious return,
sooner than we dare to know,
rest beneath red earth.



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