My son took a bathput on new clothes,left home,riding a horselike a prince;came homeas kilos of ripped flesh. one foggy winter day,some two decades ago,my brotherlost his fingers;an eagle feastedon his eyes. meadows, haunted hamletswhere the grass grows uphill-armed men storm the villageand take men out of their houses,beat themand force them to carry their…
Today, I write to you from a faraway land I don’t know when my words will reach you, If you’ll get to read my letters or my songs. I hear rumours of men marching towards your city Men with guns and laathis and power; Power that controls us, tortures us, leaves us powerless in our…