The words are far away
now
your fear remains
secluded in the evening
Where do the shadows go
discourse
They stole my hands
My pen was assassin
Houses were crippled
falls compassion (in) ( what )
bullet marks on the ruins
The villain is the grass
Suddenly my father’s whistle is heard
And falls on to the silence of the spider lips
Not acceptable.


Günsel Djemal 06.02.2015 London