Sleeping Child Of Many Day-Dreams
You are here.
Across America on wiccan wings, riding ‘pon the heatwaves of fiddle-fire!
This design lies deep within our marrow; plays its pull upon our sinews still.
For all the world’s indigenous, we will fight for Palestine!
He had felt the convulsions of his parent’s movements through their days of flight ‘n persecution, wandering Dawlat Filastin to find a birthplace home.
Immersed in purpose-penned poetry, I can not do else; cannot but cry emphatic.
The tears in the eye; on the cheek; in the palms; on the dress.