The Story of a Village !

When I left my village years ago
I left nothing, but
a house , a village , her dark streets, and
sweet memories.
But now
every house is a state
runs with its own principles and dogmas
indoctrinated with gun powder.
And every street of my village
proudly parts
from the other streets of the village , as if
shares a brutal bitterness with others
or a history of bloodshed.
Here
nothing grows but sadness
and grief
here, my childhood cries to me
from the narrow streets of my village, whose hearts
were bigger than Mars and Jupiter
to embrace once more, all
that I left years ago.


Farid Gul, London, January 9th, 2010