She is far away.
On a sad day in a wrap of fog.
Her birthday party is broken to pieces.
She wears a grey blindfold.
She searches among twigs.
Their age may be her age.
Hope’s old promises.
No comfort to her now.
Their constant river goes suddenly still.
Dreams light the way for her.
Showing dark hills in a landscape.
They are hills of hardscrabble despair.
She walks freely between them.
Sees with the eyes of her childhood.
Before all patience died away.
The struggle, the pain, will not end.
In some moments she is not there.
She stays between moments.
Not herself.
A identity that does not include life.
Far away, she walks through hilly country.
The fog pools.
Older twigs snap…

Samira …
Translated from Arabic by the wonderful poet “Steve Walker”

©Samira Baghdady all rights reserved

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