These are the days of wonder
when dusk runs a thousand miles
to meet me waking up in the morning;
red and blue clouds pile up
behind the mango tree
where I hid during the war
to escape the barrage of bullets
cascading down our roof,
where bats gathered in the hot air,
stealing the flowers and our breath
and sleep from our tired eyes.

Once upon a time,
when light reflected on every leaf,
darkness was a stranger to our shores,
I ran down the slopes of the sky
into the dry valley where,
but the stench of decaying bodies
thrown in while the men rushed
to save what remained of their families;
I met a void screaming at the back of our house,
where the blissful light
were the dry wings of dead mosquitoes.

Let’s take a kiss
without hiding our haunted lips,
or waiting for the night to arrive,
on the dark wings of scared birds,
whose death throes, like toothaches,
was the noise in the neighbourhood;
let’s slide down the bushes,
behind the cacti, the yew trees,
behind the cracked walls
clinging to save what remained of our river
and the pieces of our bombed bodies.