bare feet in the sand
toes point to the sky
blood stains
on the cotton dress
folded as a flag
over the body

between the sand dunes
except for the high screams
of desert vultures
exercising patience

men with arms
heads covered with cloth
their lethal visit
by the silent witness
of tire tracks

layers of clotted salt
cover valleys
where once slots
intersected her face
tears dried long ago
when spirits flew
on a high wind
never to come back

she folds her hands
muttering words
only the mullah understands
wind pulling at her hair
as a tug trying
to free the wreck
battered against the rocks

in vain

what has been taken
will not be given
what was most precious
deprived of his soul
leaving behind
the senseless legacy
of elusive religion
in a confused world
of thoughts named

©2015 EdjoFrank


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