An old, faded map of my country hanged on the wall.
Head high.
Wings open wide ..

I see the slim rivers ,
The faded streams 
the naked hills ,
and the widowed fields .
In my fingers touch, 
In the moonlit night , 
My eyes are blinded with the night .

I smell the sweat, 
the dust, the love and the light ,
from the old Map 
hanged on the nail ,hammered
on the wall in grey.

I smell the darkened grieves in the sands .
And the snow melts in the eyes closed .
I smell the sweat, the smiles, and the burnt sacred greens.
And I smell my mother's veil ,torn.
I see the faded moon,
the streams flow silent ,
the hills stand naked ,.
I ran my fingers over her lips closed, 
palms opened with hunger, 
and the eyes, drop tears and fears . .

I see the wrinkles ,
the blood stains ,
the suicide notes of lone rivers.,
On the Map ,
Hanged ..
On the wall.


This poem is about: 
My country
Our world