Fourteen Eleven Paris
14/11. Paris
14/11 another fine day in Portugal to wake up for but the news
from Paris turned the sky grey and the sun a spent cartridge
cooling in the body of a man in a café, beer, wine and blood.
Allah Akbar, god the great and merciful, what a horrible irony
in the streets of deaths.
I walked in the sunlight that unashamedly shone on a day of dread
and it warmed my cold face and somewhere in Paris a man sits
outside and plays “Imagine” on a piano it is heart -breaking and I`m
filled with conflicting feeling anger and trying to understand what
is impossible to grasp.
I fear the backlash and the fascist demagogues who can use the shock
to their political goal and they will be believed by an incensed mob,
Arabs will be killed for belonging to Semitic tribe that have suffered
unbelievable bad luck that never seems to end.
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