< Issue 9 >
The Rope Came Afterwards
by Farouk Asvat
I was not born
With a cord 'round my neck.
The rope came afterwards.
It is in the nightmare
That the dream is found:
Our sufferings have led to silences:
Our acknowledgements come through
In silent conversations with ourselves
In the absent embraces of our fathers
In the absent caresses of our mothers
And whites appear as negatives
In our colourful lives.
But we keep on,
Loving in the war years,
In the house made of dawn,
Hungering after forgetful memory
The Rope Came Afterwards
by Farouk Asvat
I was not born
With a cord 'round my neck.
The rope came afterwards.
It is in the nightmare
That the dream is found:
Our sufferings have led to silences:
Our acknowledgements come through
In silent conversations with ourselves
In the absent embraces of our fathers
In the absent caresses of our mothers
And whites appear as negatives
In our colourful lives.
But we keep on,
Loving in the war years,
In the house made of dawn,
Hungering after forgetful memory
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