wama

16.07.06

We are in a forest. We take refuge in the largest trees with the strongest roots. Birds visit us and bring us news from the outside. Their wings flutter around us huddled in the pit of the cedar’s hollow. These birds remind us of skies and roaming winged.

Our skies are now filled with fighters. Pushing thru the clouds, littering our streets with notices: leave before the bombing if you value your life. trans: your life is not your own. trans: dig your own grave or we will dig it for you. The letters from our own hand, curls and loops dotted and broken but the words, the language belligerant and ruined, belong to someone else. The sentences don’t make sense the syntax is embattled and brusque. Confident in its graceless insult.

posted by la kara @ 17:49