History Book

Sitting on a history book
Swords scratched my bottom

Potholes, dust, heat,
Blood, horse hoofs,
Camel dung, war cries,
Rape, death, conquest

Sitting on a history book is horrible

Post Script to an Accident

A narrow pencil
On your colourful walls
Sketching lines
Not so correct, direct or sharp

You lay here like a butterfly
Pinned to a white board

My eyes burned
Seeing your daughter
Drawing on the wall
You must have restricted

A pencil intruding your
Perimeters
Even before you are some
Smoke or ash

Last midnight
A hump on the road
Wiped out many restraints

bare land

In the bare land
shadow of
an aged tree

Sun
sand
mirage

Sun
sand
mirage

Every dot of the sand
hot with memories
of an old wilderness