This a response to a poem I wrote in 2011 when I had hope that this region could change to the better.
written in reverse
with bloody ink
Crucified by thrones of freedom
Shrouds cover cradles
Rhymed by bullets, deafened with screams :
“It’s hopeless, it’s futile, it’s a failure…”
Figures of hope, of love, of salvation
beaten with the fall of new generation
Chains are tightening, the iron is rusting
crack the tone with impossible redemption
The tirades on screens
of tyrants who got back on their feet
and were chosen to be
the ultimate rulers
The epic in reverse
began with the end
and the end is the end.
dead at conception
dead at birth
dead when resuscitated
though it took a breath
and I’m afraid to live
I’m afraid to write,I’m afraid to die.
I no longer want to sacrifice
I no longer want to write
for I’m vainly going to die.