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.