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Poetry Magnum Opus



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My son was born without the power of speech,

the secret police beat me while he was still

in the womb. Hassan's bellybutton disappeared

as he grew older and he painted a cave of winds

(a reference to his family I believe) on a butterflys

wings, when Hassan slept a flower grew where his

bellybutton used to be and the butterfly would rest

on the flower as he slept.

The photographs taken of the bombed village we left

slept then blinked woken by desert storms hammering

the shack. I saw a gun balanced on the flower as Hassan

slept and it began to talk of a butterfly choking on the

vapours of war and surviving. My thoughts became formless

like the wind. I wrote our names on two sheets of paper

throwing them into the night like two abandoned wings.

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