LAND OF SPARROWS
Maybe you think: this is a dark red flower flowing on the rock, these forms aggregates at the edges of the trenches are shepherds doze. The earth, as he depicted the brush of God, it is a field ready for plowing, for wheat, the walks, the songs. Maybe you think, does not know, how could he know that what you are watching the war, that the shepherds are dormant its dead, that the red, dried on the rock, are the pangs of unfortunate humanity, whose hearts are flowed on the scales of eternity, raising their penis to the supreme oblivion. She knows on; may not know, someone will cry the death of someone else, that a country will perish s’inginocchierà before a country on the verge of disappearing, and that other death multiply the legacy of his immortal parent, death. She does not know! Nobody wants to know. Why they persist in their joyous singing, poor little minds: the sparrows.
(Nazih Abu ‘Afash)