It should not have happened this way, or that way, rendering breathing difficult in the intense smoke of misunderstanding. The granite wall between the doors!
You grope through a thicket of words crossing the centuries of hate. Sun, no sun settles for the hope of a slain blankness, to properly heave, a sigh after the childbirth of truth.
All the dead white bones, jutting out from the ancestral incompleteness of forgetfulness of man to accept gracefully the suffering of neighbourhood. The very feel of sharing a god.
