My sister did not say a word,
Her silence has words burning inside her throat,
She wouldn't talk, she will cry.
Her lips were dried,
It wore a dark rose, like letter on a wreath,
A girl that laugh to the river to bath her feet,alone without a cohort returned with light patches of gloom.
Maybe darkness remember her,
& every tears she sheds begs for rebirth of another,
& I look at her cries, hopelessly searching for signs of her fear.
Tonight we will ask her again, if truly the red
We saw on her skirt was flower—
Sigh, she pointed to the moon,
& the mucus on her nose bloom,
& she touched her thigh to play a sibilant song of pain
Then she stood and raise a finger,
mutter some curse and walk from epoch to epoch
Like a geld without a memory,
She gallops melancholy towards me,
& seethe my soul with her fears,
& my soul runs back to the river to ask the pebbles what it says to the water fall,
Perhaps my sister was raped