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I Look to the East

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Thunder rumbles in the distance,
Warnings of what is to come.
The atmosphere is tense
Like a string drawn taught
between my fingers.
I look to the east,
from where the rain will come.

A young woman’s shoes,
in the gutter.
Slender, white shoes, spattered
with red, bright blood.
She once bought those shoes.
Walked out of the shop, smiling,
bag in hand.
She once wore those shoes,
to the mosque, to a party, in her kitchen.

Hatred pushed the button.
Hatred pushed the button of the bomb
that blew her up.
Who understands that hatred?

Thunder rumbles in the distance.
I look to the east,
from where the rain will come.
Rain of red, bright blood.





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