Traveler of the Roads by Caroline Laurent Turunc

the hideousness of imperialism

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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 …

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