For your September 15, and for my April 24.
For the low black fence that surrounds him, for the marble house that holds him, and for the red flowers that land around him every spring.
For the eldest brother, mn56 and his Mechanics of Materials, who has his features, even the smile.
For the second brother, who has the lips and the scowl.
For you, who has the eyes and fingers.
For the youngest of them all, hmn18 the graphic designer, who has the look.
You’re all him.
His path has been written, ever since the 12th of January, on the night almost 48 years before the beginning of the twenty-first century.
He was there. Look at yourself. Look at your hands. Don’t you miss him?
But why the sad face? He is here. Look out the window. Look at the mountain. Count the stars and smile for him. For me.
سجادة الدرج القديم
تزوج الظل والقذيفة
تطيل اللوزة شبرا
لا تصل الى الله
سهت امك في الصلاة
غاب الله خيف الغيم
Put your hand in my hand, trust me, they’re not far.