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FRIDA

 

WHAT FOLLOWS WORDS

 

Words are not the world,
never are solutions—
only a gauze for wounded civilization.

Should I fall silent, paralyzed
by the emptiness of words,
break apart like Holderlin
in a ‘radiance of the inexpressible’?

Or drown
in Paul Celan’s Seine,
having written the past
and left the vital unwritten?

What is left to say about Adana
that Belsen left unsaid
at the bitter edge of silence?
 

 

PERSPECTIVE

 

Always the same:
The bandit Armenian
versus the poor traduced Turk.
It was a civil war, you see,
not a genocide—a few infidels
to be sacrificed
for a pure empire.

And they were patriots too,
who died heroically.

No death march, just a re-location.

No rape, starvation, or murder,
just sheer bad luck and cholera
befalling the unbelievers.

The good and the merciful
granted the traitors release—

and oblivion.

 

 

 

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