Nothing is Missing
Arranged beauty, a vanishing self. Silent guns in the corner reveal an…
Read more →The river swallowed father, memory, and country's hue, leaving only yellow mornings and sweet sorrow.
Early morning, my father went to the river
searching for shining stones in the water—
memories of my mother trapped beneath the folds of time.
The river glittered briefly and closed its palm.
He did not return.
Since then, morning arrives with a yellow face.
Tell me, my country—were you always this colour,
or is this how summer fades
when no one is left to remember?
The rebels rot in sugar mills,
their bodies learning the language of sweetness;
it is impossible to escape
the lingering smell of their prickly sorrows.
I see giant green clouds mating
like languishing sailors.
Everything slowly disappears—
islands, jellyfish, even my own shadows.