Your face turning up towards the sky
In prayer
But you no longer have lips
We once looked like human beings
A baby cries for his mother
His mother is ash around his salivating mouth
A girl kept her eyes open
Fury burned them away, two blank marbles
We walk on the ashy ground
Where people have been pounded to dust
Only the ghosts recognize our mutilated faces
YOU ARE READING
the soft
Poesíathey say to be soft is to be powerful but it gets harder to believe that every passing day
