Written for and Dedicated to my good Friend, Kholood Azz.

 

Neck down an Imazighen sculpture, aware of her head,
where the fire burns an intense shade of blue, not hectic red!
One feet straddling the azure Mediterranean, she puts
the other on the glittering sands of cruel Sahara,
where the crickets never sing and the grains, both fine and crude
do not know the bliss of rain in hearts, made of Silica!

 

“You,”, she cried, casting her fiery eyes to the east, “unruly sun,
wake up from your weary sleep”, she insisted, “and pierce the horizon
with light from the fire that burns inside you, as it does in my head,
fusing lighter elements into the core building blocks of life,
so I can welcome those numerous blinding flashes of brightness
and know if the fire burns equally within my heart, limbs and strides!”

.


 

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