I love soft roots!
My mother knew this instinctively;
When I abstain from food with my brothers,
open my mouth to know the color of my tongue,
And from him you know what she gnawed like a sheep in the pasture:
sad roots,
Or the invocation of the name of God,
Dandelion or Dandelion,
Virgin pomegranate flowers or fox's tongue instinctive sun?

My mom died years ago.
The village disappeared before her,
planting died,
prairie deserted,
My friend Zahroun died.
the river dried up,
the whole country fell,
What kept my tongue the color of wild roots but a lie:
I would chew sumac and my tongue would turn bright red.
And my saliva keeps drooling like a dog in the heat, and I hide my act...

What does one have in the long night,
Other than the statute of limitations, there is no blame on them?

Painting by Amir Khatib