You put your feet on the cold stone,

Ignited a fire in the middle of the cold war.

You ran your hands through your hair with such grace,

Stomped your feet, shattering house windows.

With closed eyes, you danced wildly,

Upon shattered glass. You were a mockery to this nonsense war.

I embraced the season of wind, grasping your mane,

You danced fluidly in the breeze.

I followed your graceful dance.

We, dancers of the reality orchestra,

Became the dance itself, and you, the dancer.

You drowned in the black tent of night,

With the raging waves of darkness before me,

You gently landed on my shore.

With you, I saw death retreat,And how a drowning man breathes anew.

I understood life with you,Bearing its heavy burden with resilience.

We danced in this confined world that surrounded us, through spirits of the drowned dead.

The bricks watched us from the corners of their eyes,In the lifeless bones of impoverished houses.

When the wind of separation began to sing,

The final friction of our hands became a melody.

I was pulled into the storm from behind,

My fingers clenched, yours open wide.

From that day when we parted in the shadows,

We parted like two neighbors,

Two small buds on the tree of life,

Separated on the day the branch divided.

The air around my branch grew cold,

Far from yours, mine stood alone.

You reached the essence of existence until the last moment,

Then I realized that the tree of this caravan had become entwined with ivy.

Search for history

In the wounded hands and feet of our grief.

Search for history

In the sincere poems of our beliefs.

Search for history

In the shadows beneath the infection of oppression.

Search for the dancers

Whose dance is a bullet in the face of oppression.

Search for history

In the dreamlike scenes of the barefoot.

Search for history.

In the struggle between sun and the illusion of shadows.

Search for history

“I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.”-Romans 8:18

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