Nineteen. Forty. Seven

I have been meaning to write you,
For some time now,
But my words simply cannot cascade,
Across my page like the rivers,
Falling across your mountains,
My words cannot descend from this pen,
Like the tears your women still cry,
How do I embody their strength  – in this?
How do I paint the remnants of children,
Across maps of our valleys,
In search of a heart that might just be beating,

I have been meaning to tell you,
I have fallen so in love since I left you,
I dream of your valleys,
I cradle them within me, unwilling to let go.
But the memories of my love,
Are encrypted in the painful remembrance,
Of rape and massacres,
Of mass graves and torture,
Of the tears cried by Parveena Ahangar,
As she searches for the strength to continue,
Now how do I write this to…

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Author: gogwit

One foot in Sanity, the other in the adjoining parish, usually in the vicinity of the boundary between the two but sometimes straying into the main square of either and very occasionally taking occupation of the Town Hall...

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