I walk as if I am someone else, and my wound is a white English rose. My hands are like two doves on the cross, flying and carrying the earth. I don’t walk, I fly, I become someone else in the manifestation. No place, no time. So who am I? I am not me in the presence of the ascension, but I think alone. The Prophet Muhammad was speaking classical Arabic.. And what next? What next? A female soldier suddenly shouted, “Is it you again? Didn’t I kill you?” I said, “You killed me…” And I forgot, like you, to die.
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Don’t apologize for what you did
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A deep poetic meditation that combines the personal and the national, and expresses sadness and pride in identity.
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