You are a mother country or a field of fire?
You are a landscape that there is to destroy
or stairs of victims
that it is not satiated of his death?
you are a basket that sinks
and one does not fill but of life?
Perhaps it is this one your celebration
or your death?
These fire sweetmeats
they are for your dead children
or for the last celebration of your slaughtering?
Then, death.
We will back to the place from where we have come
to the deserts and the infinite
Waiting for a new prophet.


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