If I could control
the loom of my language.
This bed
would not be made of lonely razors.
Our bed would be
a mirror of seaweed.
Our bed would be
a pair of wings, an Eden of love.
Outside, the wind whistles and the rain lashes,
in our hearts, thunder beats.
The Sun wakes us
and paints your horizon with happy colours.
A crown for my queen,
the bread of reconciliation.
Translation by:
Monique James & Belkis Possamai
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