
“It’s the windows that make me saddest.”
~ Heba Ahmed.
It is not we alone who forget.
Time, blind eye, forgets.
Time forgets when time does not
Want to remember.
Or maybe it does, secretly.
Time, blind eye, has ears.
After the face disappeared,
The window
Was as desolate as the star,
That no longer appeared again.
The creeper stayed green
For a while, till
Waiting burnt its skin.
Some windows are thirsty for
Water,
But the air has dried up.
The days here are darker than
Nights,
Days cannot hide themselves.
Even the birds here know
Something is wrong.
Memory is a silent neighbourhood.