Afraid to ask, the white
fingers, to write a name on black paper.

The milky way.*Janus will
trap the light and open the doors.

War of words was not
going to stop. The alphabets do─

not pronounce well. The─
rape, the brutality, the mutilated death?

The mother tongue weeps.
The masks will write a history, in exile.

Throwing the coins? The
real face becomes a poem, lifting the wrists.