Posted Tuesday, January 8th, 2013
This is for the woman with hands dyed red,
hands that never touched the delicate blooms of henna.
Her hands without henna dyed red.
Believe that we, with our hands in cumin,
we who mourn, burn candles, build bridges,
who have moved mountains,
Believe that we will not
let your death go unanswered.
Woman, your hands dyed red, believe
that reaction ripples, and
May the peace you have found
resound in this world’s answer,
A new world, a whole world
where women are welcomed.
All for hands without henna,
this woman dyed red.
Comments [post a comment]
Posted by Saleh Razzouk [ firstname.lastname@example.org
] on Wednesday, January 9th, 2013 at 8:17 AM
Nice poem. Very moving. It is new one.