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Dust, Dialogue , lron
I close my palm on glimpses of time. I am a powerless witness sometimes, sinking deep into my buried secrets. I feel my way in the darkness, seeing scenes of the first slave taken from Africa. I Fall along a tear, fearful for the children that will not arrive to the french port of Nantes. The bewilderment of Andalusia Taifa Kings. A writer inscribing Hammurabi laws. A woman protecting her child.A priest of the Middle Ages seducing a woman .His Eminence at the outskirts of Toledo hoping to secure the Pope’s clothing. The pleading of an elderly in Barbaric times. The sorrow of a widow for someone lost. A Child crying for his father’s stretched out body, another calling a father that dose not respond. Mourning inside the darkness of the house. Sex exploding under a tree. Love flowing like light strays at the beginnings of the silk Route. An aging woman deterring teenage occupiers with a trick .A shopkeeper who dose not stop cleaning the door to his shop. A child covered in black dust in Indian coalmines. A child forced to drink UN milk .An aging man leaning on his stick crying his long gone youth. A girl toying with a mirror.
Tayseer Barakat
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