July 2, 2014

<i>July 2, 2014</i><br><br><br>


by Ali Znaidi

We all know that you declare war on tongues!

We all know that you wallpaper tongues
w/ your shattered glass until they’re crunchy.

Your war turns like a thorn as a sore throat
thru a series of stings set up like blades
of a sharp lightning.

Each sting serenades our skins.—An ontology
of oppression.

But how comes you make anthologies out of our
torture? Really, how comes?

We all know your hobby, although you have
no spare time to waste.—You only love to stir
our tongues w/ your sharp spear.

But your spear doesn’t frighten us at all.
Your spear no longer frightens us because
we have spears, too.

Your spear will be suspended in the city’s arch.
Your spear will be eaten by hungry spiders &

We all know that you declare war on tongues.
We all know that you cut tongues.

But we all know that you don’t know that
there are still bits of our tongues.
If not, there are still ululations.
If not, there are still reverberations.
If not there are still echoes.

& these echoes become our serenades to survive!!!

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