The Fortieth Day

Attack attack the bellowing of curses tear gas grave after grave: the kick of boots. The cemetery trembles at the onslaught of the troops like the black plague. The cemetery weeps. The people come crawling they pass through the corridor of baton blows smeared with scorched soil smeared with blood wounds of heads — knees and yet still crawling they come with a flower stem — held tight in hand — toward the silent call smeared with scorched soil smeared with blood like flowers like petals and yet still singing with a ringing voice above the burning dust above the cemetery above the borders...