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Saniyya Saleh - Blind Boats




Because desolate rooms are beds for the poetry
that kills
I sob,
I dry up like trees.
The days still as the rocks
send the calls of blind boats.

Sharpshooter
aim your gun at my heart
Whisper your bullets like a lover into my ear
In vain I raise my anguish to the skies
Let their roads
be emtpy except for
My voice and
My echo.





From "Women of the Fertile Crescent - Modern Poetry by Arab Women" Edited by Kamal Boullata

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