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In the arms of your father

 

Cocooned in layers in the still of night,

Layer upon layer, row upon row, flank upon flank,

Breathing fog into air already thick with

breath, and gasps, and gurgles bubbling with death.

We sit, we wait, we remember.

 

In the still of night,

we shiver

and wind whips through flesh

as it ate yours, before the bones were crushed,

and listen to the silence through its distant screams,

and wait for the light.

 

I hear the gentle lap of waves

Still coming, still coming,

And listen to the mothers’ tears

lost in the sea

which once ran scarlet

As you dropped,

Its beach cut short as your youth.

 

Come now, stand proud where you lie, thick with the company of thousands

And watch the realisation grow

Of wanton waste and futility,

Of filth, disease, and hopeless despair.

Feel the freshly-salted tears seep through.

 

Rest in your bed.

Kemal’s embrace holds you close as you lie entwined with your foe, as if you were lovers,

Lost sons now joined, mothers’ grief as one,

No longer alone.

 

The light has come now,

not yet enough to see.

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