Ahmed Miqdad, Photo
Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
Dedicated: To Ahmed Miqdad,
a poet exiled in his homeland, Gaża
The day is struggling to come to life
but the smoke is too heavy.
We are living in hell
or maybe even worse, I believe,
since there you know where you are?
Any minute now we wait for our turn to die
How can you not think about death
during this dreadful genocide?
Now we are losing our minds
What mind can you have
when you live in this torture?
And the seagulls on the beach in Gaza
nibble on the remains of the dead.
The stink of death is in Brussels.
John P. Portelli
