my mother’s hand/soft as a cotton wool caresses my foolish head/five fingers!
couldn’t hold hopes/crazy waves
Mediterranean hey!
Five Fingers caresses/with the hard of her hand
can’t speak/blonde haired meadows
blood ejaculates from the soil/ on to her marigold butter meadows
too many deaths/Mehmet, Huseyin, Andrea, Yiannis...
and their unknown graves
of my day-to-day desires/it is not the waiting we need
should i grow my belly bigger/as if precious, as if?
like my mother i swell/every single dying cell may keep and bring peace
olives in my hand/i am smaller than the tree
as its hard green fruit not gathered
falls blind!

Gunsel Djemal 5/9/2009 Bromley Road-London