Traveler of the Roads by Caroline Laurent Turunc
the hideousness of imperialism
We hit but hit in the deepest time of the heart
Neither the dagger nor the knife could have bled so much
A drop of nostalgia between existence and nothingness that is often seen
Then we put the smell of pain instead of kohol
And the sadness of the swelling in the cheek ditch
The harness had no tongue, the Ruby the Emerald were diamonds!
Even though the truth had a name we called it
Knot, beggar, drunk
We cut off the finger of the one who reaches out
unknown of the time who created the creator!
Who are the poorest in existence and in nothingness
Are they those who lack morals or rich in goods?
Or is it the stalk of the ear of wheat pitting us against each other?
Give birth to kill hide.
Was this the end point of the most precious advice
On top of the one who knows eloquence and rhetoric by heart
Cry those who observes neither the rhyme nor the measure nor the style
Imperialism that have taken the continent under its influence is a reptile
Is it for the meal of the wolves all these joys all these cries of pain
These wolves have known sheep for millions of centuries
They discovered the tastiest pearl in the throat
Those who are like us belong to them to the bone
Serve throat food for their hundreds
Rubies were children’s tears
O wayward traveler in the desert of Kaaba
The wound of ignorance is not the sun of science
The sun is hard work for the earth to reach
And you, oh son of man unbelieving religion, morals, faith were very expensive
But you, you sold them at a low price …