When dawn came, it came
with silence and the smells of
putrid flesh, silence for all the
women who had mastered the art
of crying into themselves like water
fountains that sat in squares that
are no more squares but mighty
holes in the soil
where some of them sank.

He was busy teaching us the right way
to cup our hands when
we pray.

Nobody told him that the problem
wasn't about cupping, that we
were just looking for a helpful
adult who would scrub the 'g' in
God off our throats every time we tried
to whisper a prayer and we choked on
smoke, on our words.

He would not tell us why our words were
smoke, why there was a fire
in us that had burnt
our bones - if the fires in our
bones were hot enough break the links
that tied the chains of the memories
of our dead brothers. He would not
tell us if the fires were hot enough to
melt the chains that had curled
themselves around our necks.

When dusk came, it came with rain.
I saw farmers,
my father's friends crying. It might
have been only them who knew
that a rain of bombs
does not grow
crops.

llaykorn:
When dawn came, it came
with silence and the smells of
putrid flesh, silence for all the
women who had mastered the art
of crying into themselves like water
fountains that sat in squares that
are no more squares but mighty
holes in the soil
where some of them sank.

He was busy teaching us the right way
to cup our hands when
we pray.

Nobody told him that the problem
wasn't about cupping, that we
were just looking for a helpful
adult who would scrub the 'g' in
God off our throats every time we tried
to whisper a prayer and we choked on
smoke, on our words.

He would not tell us why our words were
smoke, why there was a fire
in us that had burnt
our bones - if the fires in our
bones were hot enough break the links
that tied the chains of the memories
of our dead brothers. He would not
tell us if the fires were hot enough to
melt the chains that had curled
themselves around our necks.

When dusk came, it came with rain.
I saw farmers,
my father's friends crying. It might
have been only them who knew
that a rain of bombs
does not grow
crops.

bro gimme ur number

danbrowndmf:
bro gimme ur number

Dan Bee, how far? 09056187226

A rain of bombs does not grow crops.