Poems from bahannahnut
what is there left to tell
anymore? I'm presenting my case to an empty room
filled with silence that illuminates my hurt.
Don't worry...
my soul is an attic;
there are dust particles
floating
and settling
all around.
my memories lie,
scattered upon
decrepit, creaky shelves...
This is their place,
the place they freely roam;
This is their place,
the place they call, “Home”.
Word of men with hair on their face,...