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These heartbeats can easily be transposed, at any time too, within writing or speaking and everyday living within interactions with any of our close family, friends and associates across this world. We have to reach out to others, and go deeper within our self, if we are open for enlivening and broadening care for respect of love and peace. In living devotion, we fully resonate and heal ourselves and our planet earth from our inside out! Is there any specific moment or event that made you write? I must admit, that various loving people have really touched me inside of soul, and helped me to feel more deeply within my care for all life.

I am ever grateful to our Creator, as an ongoing source of Love, and evolving inspiration of universal inclusiveness of my faith within. I believe we are the world, and we have a huge role for impacting all positive change for our future generations too! Ashi: What is your favorite topic to write on? And do you have a specific writing style? Most certainly, it is our deep Soul and inner connectedness within Love, Peace and Harmony, that I utilize within my writing at present. This encompassing message resides within every living being upon this earth. I consider these areas to be awakening within us all.

My writing style is opening into universal spirituality, which is inclusive in every approach within its heartcenter. Our nourishing spiritual evolvement grows, when we are within a loving vibratory message that is connecting inside our one world humanity of heart! Ashi: Would you like to share something about your personal life with our readers to know you more closely? I am a very down to earth supportive wife and a mother of two teenage sons. I feel deeply for our living together within unity, as a One World Family! I am a person who holds the highest It is a vitality of transformation of care that can benefit our future generations!

As we serve and give our more, we are actually giving a full surrender into our love for all of us! As we are only ONE, inside living and loving! It is often we are able to share so lovingly, in some small ways, and find within our growth too, a vital meeting in togetherness of heart. These heart-fully include Poet Laureate Dr. Madan G Gandhi ji, Dr. Jernail Anand, William S. Peters Sr. Ram Sharma, Dr. Caldwell, and Dr. Sushma Gandhi Devayani, as well as many others too. My list is so very long, and I could go and on!

I love all poets and their poetry with such great heart! I have been deeply inspired by the vastness and collective spiritual poems --found in many modern day living poets. I am able to read hundreds of poems every day, right here on the Internet. As this is the age of instant access, it so impacts my ability to be all over the place at once; even while staying right here at my little writing desk in Saint Paul, Minnesota.

It is often enormously overwhelming at times too. I do regularly turn everything off though, and go for many long quiet walks for giving heart its restful stretch break in between all of this reading, pondering within. This often fuels many of my long writing jaunts too! With such a full access of enormous collections of poetry available electronically, I am ever grateful to support many of my publishing endeavors wherever possible, because we are one huge family that enjoys reading books too.

This format is most preferred to my creative muse and this is what drives within me my spirit fordiving right into pure poetic bliss. Publishing of the printed word in its book format is so wondrous, because a book gives you something you can hold and refer to again and again. I am often lovingly lost in a place where time and space often does not exist, on any given day or night!

My love for poetry extends inside nearly all of my interactions with others and this will hopefully continue to provide caring supports inside of many joint upcoming group projects, poetic anthologies, and future e-journal publications. I am always opening to readily touch life more deeply and feel connected with many dear souls around the world too, in such a perfect and natural way!

Please share your feeling ofthat moment. The elated feelings I felt inside were mostly of deepest gratitude My individual poetic offerings were eventually connected with and read by a dear noble soul, Mr. William S. I was subsequently offered a full publishing contract to produce my first volume of poetrythrough inner child press ltd. I continue writing daily and this helps me stay actively involved within collective contributions of World Peace Poetry, Duet Poetry and Spiritual Haiku Poetry.

Personally, I enjoy reading poetic works that reach deep and rhythmically inside of soul, for uplifting a giving vibration of care inside of collective thoughtfulness. As poets alike hold the key for their readers to flow in their words with deepest breaths of love! I read such phenomenal poetry these days. I am able to spend hours reading some of my favoritepoems, nearly every day.

If a poem speaks into my soul, I truly cherish it for a long time thereafter, and may even read that poem over, again and again too!

Contributors’ Notes

I love poems that are clear, neat and those that uniquely make one think deeper within conscious living on many levels! I continue writing daily and this helps me stay actively involved within collective contributions ofWorld Peace Poetry, Duet Poetry and Spiritual Haiku Poetry. Ashi: Did you always have full appreciation and support for your talent in writing?

Yes, I have been very fortunate to enjoy such loving supportive care from my teachers, mentors, fellow poets, family and friends. There are times when I am unable to give a lot of time for everyone or even thank everyone individually. My closest supporters know how actively involved my life swirls, and they understand how my energy flows as an advocate, friend and busy writer. Ashi: According to you, which poem ofyours is your masterpiece?

Well, I like to consider myself a true beginner in heart. We become the very love we share within life. As after a poem has been written by my heart, I just move on into the present moment and lovingly await another new breath that may give itself inside of poetry, as it is flowing on through! Ashi: Please share one ofyour poems that is close to your heart.

If we truly open into the vastness of our creative being, we actually live in our poetry inside of everything,that we are… as we think, feel and do! I enjoy the inner-connections with life, as we live togetherness of nature and feel to be more sensitive in sharing this part of heart with others too! I am grateful to the many giving souls who bloom, so collectively within this first offering of my early poetic works. It is woven together inside a lovely and sharing illustrative black and white book. Ashi: I have noticed a deep spiritual element in your poetry; please explain your views and feelings on that.

I feel that this spiritual breath for living, gives us full opportunity for exploring how we really support. Ashi: What advice would you give your contemporary writers and poets? Be open and ever honest to care for your life! Your heart-felt expressions and everything you feel so deeply for within are very important. Be ever willing to share your being with others too. Let your heart love so wildly, while you continue as a life-long learner in sharingeach collaborative moment, within your caring for others, on a collective quest that really does matter!

Read your favorite poets and writers most regularly and support them fully too. We are all here for a wondrous sharing purpose of love! If you truly love poetry do your very best to become a devoted and caring lover, who will support each of your words insideofcaring expressive soul flowing from you as a writer! Ashi: Give your opinion on Reflection magazine and would you like to give any advice for improvement. I believe the electronic journal is often the most excellent format for reaching across the globe opening exposure for poetry, writing and art.

This journal does an effective job of inclusive coverage uplifting and giving full expression that is easy and readily accessible to anyone, anywhere in the world! It is my hope that one day; we can have some printed magazines accessible for contributors to have fond remembrance of these wonderful issues, as well. My opinion of Reflection Magazine is one that is most positive, for its continued success and growth. I do also hope for its continued expansion of readership, in the future as well, and feel this is most possible by a continuance of giving quality care inside all offerings, as shared by global poetic voices reflecting well and uplifting all!

Thank you so much for inviting me to share some of my poetry again within Reflection Magazine. I am ever appreciative of your invitation to share my love for poetry with Reflection Magazine readers! Humble wishes and heart thanks to all! The budding writers are sure to draw nourishment from the radiance of your spirit and your gracious advice would boost up their enthusiasm to create marvels from their pens. Hope to grow more enlightening company ofyours. Profound thanks to you! No fear can make its stay, No hurdle can hinder their way, They know how to live each day, For, they are the youth oftoday.

The dreams they set in their eyes, They will never let go dry. For, they will never fail to strive, To keep their sparks ofvictory alive. With passion as their potent fuel, And through the power ofwill, They will trample all odds down, To wear the success crown. The pangs and woes cannot touch them ever, Despair can seek place in them never, To their goals, they intent on, No stones they would stumble upon.

Words fall short, In their praise. For they triumph over, Time and space. Durga Patva hails from Farrukhabad, East U. Having done her M. D from Lucknow University. She is fond of writing poems and short stories and also trying her hand to write a novel. Chess is her favourite game. The circle of human life has three cessation points or stages: childhood, youth and old age. Each stage has its own importance. Youth can be described as the cascade of courage, enthusiasm, valour, experiment, quest, discoveries, learning, gaining, achieving, love, hate, hardness, rigidity, experiences, emotions, feelings and all the good and bad actions.

It is a crucial period. This is the time for a person to prove himself or herself by showing his or her zeal of doing something. Put it simply, young age is like the rainbow that trigs the wide pristine sky of marvellous ambitions, prophecies and expectations with the sparkling beams of doing something rocking and stunning with their sensational ideas and thoughts. Young age seems as the magic surface that wings to the flight of our golden dreams to do something different or special or momentous by encouraging so that it takes off and with its power our flight lands into the world of attained chief goal.

Youth also symbolises enormous potentiality and strength. During this prime time, a person gets the title of a black sheep or a man of parts according to what he or she deserves or does. In this way, youth is the season of destruction or construction, creation or production. During the young age a person fills his empty earn of memories with experiences with.

Youth is the opportunity granted by God to everyone to show their qualities. The life is the pious river of action and nobody should keep idling their precious time, just simply sitting on its bank but always tries to be full of actions. Everybody in his youth should be an avid discoverer and aspirant and should struggle to achieve more lore again and again so that he or she can bring about a great and good change. Hope, laughter and love is in her eyes Ifyou look close in her beauty, you'll be mesmerized A child so carefree and full ofinnocent smiles a vile creature lure her to the pit This heartless stranger who is in disguise, the abominable culprit.

Let her dance in the rain and shout out with glee Without a care in the world, set this beautiful creation free Don't rub her ofsuch wondrous childhood memories Don't allow her to be in evil hands ifyou please. Dear Sugarplum, I know you have been wondering why Mom has to write you an open letter to convey what she has in her mind? You would often hear words, What choice do I have?

The journey from pre-teens to teens is mostly lost in translating the realities and accepting the changes, overall. We often mimic or should I put some catchy word for you, consent to choices, which by no means reflect us, define us and speak for us as a person. Social awkwardness, yes, sometimes, you may need to accept this as well, it would come with the bouquet of choices, you would be making in your life, holistically. You can count on your buddies, Adeptness and Adaptability in such situations.

You would soon be asking questions about the choices you have to make, you would be making and you would be expected to make, in pursuit of your life and career trajectory. Menstruation, love, marriage, premarital sex, stereotypes abstaining rightful choices, Gender disparity, Questioning Sexuality and objectification of human life. I have to admit this though, the journey was full of overwhelming bumps and unforeseen roadblocks, but the rewards were satisfying, seeing you happy and contended at the end of the day, as a mother, it was my prerogative and moral instinctive duty to protect, empower and educate you for your life, rights and choices, priming qualitative aspects over choices often lost in chaos.

When as a parent we make choice or being compelled to make choices for our kid s , who being a minor, has no say in those affirmations signed by their parents, from choosing the type of clothes they going to wear, type of school they are going to fit in, educational prospects, career decisions, choosing sports and extracurricular activities, we all believed it as a missive, a moral instinctive right, given to unnaturally with parenthood duties and responsibilities.

Now these limitations seem to be blurry, for no apparent reasons, environment shapes an individual and family is the first social institution for any kid. In this scenario, Choice, is it rhetoric or a metaphor thrust upon us, on our conscious mindsets, stapled nicely under the grab of being silent observers, having no say in our life? Do we really support and steer our Kids choices free from stale morals chap sticks, vocal boundaries and think of viable factors to make them responsible citizens and persons believing in tenets of Global community and Humanity? You would be thrown open to competitive world; you already have been making good choices regarding your education and personal fulfillment issues.

Ethical I have spell it here to convey the importance of happy face morals like compassion, love, goodness, reverence etc. As a person you need to grow with the Choices you would be making and you would like to opt for, whatever those choices are, you may need to remember, Choice word has two more siblings, Choose and Voice, you can count them as your hidden buddies, and we adults often call it as conscience. Remember, Voice and Choose. And, you would be fine. As her wish was fulfilled now, it was her turn to pay tribute to the god. Though she was educated, but Kanika still had old-mindset of religion and rituals.

He was not gathered at the venue to enjoy the ready to take any risk against God at all. After all it was big celebration. The refrigerators matter of just few thousands and who cared about the pain of were filled up innocent animals. Temple of Goddess Kali at of what it was. Tarapeeth is famous throughout The celebration the country. Kanika was started with supposed to pay her tribute in cutting of the cake, followed by the same. So she along with photo session and Navin, Nancy and Purnendu left then was the time for the temple next day.

She managed to buy eleven goats on for delicious the way to temple. Finally they dinner. Pretty good number of reached their destination and It was time of celebration as Bengali dishes were available soon to the place where animals new member just arrived to the for vegetarians as well as non- were supposed to get sacrificed.

Navin vegetarians. Finally it was the All the goats were cut back to Goenka were extremely glad to time for the dance. Party went back. The blood coming out of have a baby son after their the damaged veins colored the well as planned. Next day daughter Nancy, who was five everyone left the place after ground red. Navin was CA by wishing Purnendu for a great it and she fell down to the profession and his wife Kanika and long life ahead. She fainted. Navin left was a banker. The temple that she would sacrifice finish up all the rituals.

The newly born kid was named Purnendu. She threw away plenty of questions to her mom and started insisting her to answer them too. How would have their family members felt on losing them? It was not a sin but a favor to them because they are now going to get back to the earth with better life unlike before. The pain was temporary but the relief was permanent for them. Their loved ones knew these facts, hence they would not feel bad. With the passage of time perhaps she forgot the incident. She never forwarded any query related to that matter to her mother again.

Everything was normal on the track for the family. Navin and Kanika having one daughter and one son were satisfied with the family structure. Kanika took break from the professional life for a year so as to take care of the newly born child. Navin also used to devote his weekends completely to his family, even after having a high work load. Kanika too got admitted to the school nearby. Perhaps sacrifice of animals brought enormous happiness to the family.

After a year, Kanika hired a caretaker Rama for the children and joined her job back. Caretaker was very honest to her duty and used to take care of the children like mother indeed. Purnendu had been ill since last few days. But Kanika had enough confidence in Rama.

One day, she got sudden stomach pain while boiling milk. Purnendu was sleeping whereas Nancy had just returned from School and was taking bath. Rama thought it would just take a few minutes to take medicine from nearby. She would return before Purnendu woke up. She took tablets from the shop and hastened down to Purnendu and Nancy. As she entered house, she saw something which kept her mouth opened wide. Purnendu was lying wounded on the floor and blood was coming out of his damaged neck. She was not able to collect enough guts to face Kanika and Navin at all after that incident. However, she had to, when both of them returned to home.

Moment they saw Purnendu injured, they fell down to the floor. Meanwhile Navin came back to the sense and took Purnendu immediately to the hospital. Crying out of pain, she questioned Nancy about the reason for her sinful act. The pain would be temporary, but he will get permanent relief. They realized their mistake. The seed of the illogical mindset of Nancy was somewhere germinated by them only. Also, they realized their crime. Perhaps God had taught them a lesson. Today Kanika realized the pain of all those goats that were killed brutally, because today she was the one to face the same.

To some he is an eccentric renegade filled with purposeless wanderlust. As for myself and others he is a maverick, a rebel, a hero who celebrates his freedom. He is all American and he is ageless. Spry for his years, rough hewn with a lean wiry frame, his face taut like rough weathered leather beneath a long gray beard, creased with the lines of many miles and many years.

On his head he wears a stars and stripes bandanna to keep his bushy, silver white hair in place.

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Dusty but not dirty from the road, the engine, a big V-Twin, sits mounted on a mono-shock soft tail frame with a fat bob gas tank and teardrop fenders, painted electric blue and highlighted with red and white pin stripes. A cool rigid look, fine-tuned by a low-slung saddle seat with a passenger pad and an old worn rucksack tied to the small sissy bar.

The pull back handle bars and a wide glide front end that rolls on chromed spoke wheels gives the impression of constant motion. It has retro-classic style for a long easy ride, standing still; it beckons for the open road. It is a machine to epitomize the power and prestige of the American Dream. He mounts the bike, starts it up and roars toward the open road. A resounding thunder shatters the silence of the new morning. The fringes of his jacket give the appearance of wings, an eagle gliding on the wind. Magical Non Senses Orbis Press, Victor Alcindor is an American poet of Haitian descent whose poems have appeared in various online and literary journals.

Alcindor resides in South Orange, New Jersey with his wife and two children. Her novel, Back to El Dorado, is forthcoming. The other thing is to stroke the cheek and temple of a lover slowly just feeling, not seeing except with my fingertips. Azahara Palomeque El Sur, is a Spanish poet. Palomeque holds a Ph. She lives in exile since In English, a wound is the past of the wind winding itself up, the footprint of a storm and not the lightening, the rubble, in that instant, of past ages.

It was yesterday. It was a warm encounter with the future, a tectonic yell from some depth now visible today. Era ayer. Nichole Acosta is a multicultural, queer, diabetic, poet whose work captures human nature in its best and worst light. Writing for those who have felt left behind in the margins, she has been performing spoken word poetry solo and in collaboration with musicians and other performers from New York City to Singapore since she was 11 years old. To support more of her work go to nicholeacosta. Look both ways before you hold her hand. The heteronormative couple is making love with their clothes on in the middle of the museum cafe in Paris.

There are bus loads of bigots ready to run you over for loving your lover who is a woman like you. We gotta Google where our rights are wrong before we book a plane ticket to another country or state. We gotta play it straight in Haiti. It takes longer to check our passports. If a heterosexual couple has a surrogate the man and woman do not have to adopt the kid. Mother of four, she is preparing her doctoral thesis and two more books.

Esta es la Vena Cava que no acaba de yugular tu pecho en mi pecho. Este es mi cuerpo libre. Estos son los altares. Mis graves ojos nevados. Vuelo Blando. Escritura de rosas y ciervos y jazmines. Mi pan de otros cuerpos. Tendones que se dicen en hilos de Luna y sol. Akram Alkatreb was born and raised in Salamiah, Syria; a city renowned for its poets. He attended the University of Damascus, graduating with a degree in law. Alkatreb has worked as an art critic and journalist between contributing to many major Arabic speaking he has published six poetry collections including one in Spanish.

He has participated in several international poetry festivals. He lives in USA since I did not forget the house. It remained as it was, with remnants of lime on its walls. Even the sounds of rustling branches with vague sighs of tenderness falling and breaking on the terrace becoming yellow leaves, my mother would broom at dawn. The house I used to draw, with a small river, on the geography notebook. Y al mirar la sala, he sentido miedo. New York based Latina author. Author of the short stories books Ana no duerme , Ana no duerme y otros cuentos ; and of the poetry books Viaje legado and Dis-Enchanted in press.

Sam Shepard: Sentarse a mirar la pared. Observar los cambios de luz. You have to school yourself. I used to work at the kitchen table I wrote Buried Child in the kitchen of our ranch in California. He said: Sitting and watching the wall. Seeing the light change.

Marisa Russo was born in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Poet, editor, and cultural liaison. She is a doctoral candidate in education with emphasis in pedagogic mediation in the Universidad de La Salle, Costa Rica. Founder of Turrialba Literaria in Costa Rica. Lola Lola atraviesa Tiergarten como un cometa de piernas esbeltas. Cruza el estudio de la Universum Film con zapatos blancos, boina y cigarro.

Deja caer las cenizas sin disimular infidelidades. Marlene las junta y se empolva el rostro. Entretelones es bien sabido que se acuesta con todos, menos con Adolph. Se fuma a los que dicen que ella es la culpable de la Segunda Guerra Mundial. Lola Lola crosses Tiergarten like a comet of slender legs. She crosses the Universum Film studio with white shoes, beret and cigar. She lets the ashes drop without concealing infidelities. Marlene gathers them and powders her face. Behind the curtains it is well known that she sleeps with everybody, except with Adolph.

She smokes those who say she is to blame for World War Two. Maryam Alikhani, Ph. She holds an M. She is an award winning educator, writing instructor, poet, and translator. How to write one? She writes short stories, poetry and essays, and her work has been published in several anthologies and journals. Proa al viento, lo patinas. Imbatible tripulante del olvido y sus fracasos. Molusco sometido, confecciono la perla que saliva mi dolor y ambiciono sin rodeo el merecido colapso de tu flota. Standing on the crest of the wave You receive triumphal congratulations. Bow to the wind, you skate along it.

Placid, imperious, Returning from a thousand conquests. Deep down below, tasting the harsh inclemency of the sand, There is me, unbeatable creature of oblivion and its fiascos. A subjected mollusk, creating a pearl with the saliva of my pain, and truly wishing you the defeat you so deserve. Through the eye of an anchor, I will calmly observe your inevitable wobbling, and the admirable fragility of the powerful surface that elevates you. I will pick up the pieces with pure pleasure after your downfall. And I shall cast my pearl before the swine that deal with your remains.

Sasha Reiter was born in New York City in He grew up in the Bronx, where as the son of an Argentinian father and a Peruvian mother, he experienced firsthand the metaphorical otherness of being both Latino and Jewish. He attended Public School and received his B. He spent a semester in London studying English history and culture. This is his first book and he is currently working on his second collection of poetry. He intends to pursue a Masters in English with a specialization in Creative Writing. Sometimes I see you Teetering over the expired garden. I watch you drive away the weeds, As though they were vectors through which [to forget you.

Contributors’ Notes

Gloom rotted plums and carrots Flood with color as your fingers Slide through corroded leaves, Personifying them with amity. I call to you and you turn. Your face is absent but ridden with guilt. The leaves turn grey, The frail vegetation embossed with animosity. Deidamia Galan Santo Domingo, Poet, journalist and publicist.

She also has studies in broadcasting, radio production, and cultural journalism. Some of her poems have been included in international and local anthologies, and translated to Catalan and Creole. Volver a tus manos, por eso, es casi siempre un alivio que me permito a modo de protesta cuando me escapo del mundo sin ganas de salvarme. He has published four novels, twelve books of poetry, two books of short stories and three plays. Conservamos el fuego apagado, hemos rechazado preservar el imperio, sus cuerpos y sus ahogos. El imperio se sosiega en el paso de pocos segundos.

I walked alongside the wall, stone after stone… I touched the stones with my hands…… in the silence, the wall seemed alive, over the palm of my hands flamed the joint of the stones I had touched. Trepaners of craniums in space. Of men who made peace and gave back the kingdoms and lived praying and imploring, their feet closed, their brains closed, of men who did not keep their lips shut, their silence struck us as encouraging.

Oblivion recovers its hollows of pleasure, we lack the will to dream and we remain silent in the private space. We keep the fire extinguished, we have rejected preserving the empire, its bodies and distress. The empire calms down in a matter of seconds. Downcast minds bowed for the writing of history, that brilliant sun, to preserve the empire, closer to the impermeable time, and closer to the water.

Old men standing with their shadowy masks, removed the god, from lucid intelligence, where the rotten brevity of the land might remain, and a crowd of small declines, sought to translate the law of the empire. He is a poet, actor, and theater director and considers himself to be an activist for peace in all of his endeavors. He has published theater, poetry, chronicle, and essays.

Porfirio Barba Jacob. He descendido de otras orillas, mis ojos vuelan en la hondura, mis labios no musitan quejido alguno pero oigo y pienso y hablo pensamientos. Alguien canta y el agua apenas se detiene y tierra abajo besa su canto las rojas orillas. Dios no viaja con nosotros. Dios vaga solo en el alto aire sagrado. Una playa sola. Una roca serena que lenta se disuelva en el viento de los siglos.

This land is very smooth, very warm, not at all fertile, and long rivers of pain nourish it. Others come with me, I feel them and I dream them. I hear the rumor of their spirits and I think them and they think and dream their memories for me. Many have been navigating for five hundred or more years. The insane fanfare of the fish gets tangled up in the fabric of so many mute voices. Someone sings and the water barely pauses and the earth below kisses its song the red shores. The smoke and the flames and the solitary cry of the dogs without owners rise to god, also dead.

God wanders alone in the high sacred air. The dogs chase their tails and growl and howl. I hear the many voices of my dog in the dream and my cats purring in the garden. Just as others think and hear the voice of their animals: their lazy cows nestling up to the milking, their stubborn mules climbing and descending winter hills. Next to me the teacher sings new African rounds and the children draw lost maps in the smoke sky. We are a town of water, of burning earth, of loving sea, of the wastelands of light, of the high alabaster lagoons.

Some barely remember the rushing water in the clay shore of the river where they were born. And others keep only a shadow of the lightening of the high lagoons. Or a red light of heat in the midday mirror. But all of us in our river long for a last sand. An empty beach. A serene rock that slowly dissolves in the wind of the centuries.

Even those that arrive to the most secret or forgotten river, and we are already only song, rushing water in our useless memory. Rojas has participated in many national and international conferences and poetry festivals and his scholar and literary work has also been published in reviews and anthologies of several countries. Juan Armando completed his Ph. Ana Guillot was born in Buenos Aires.

She has taught Language and Literature in secondary schools and universities.

War, Peace and Politics

She has also co-hosted the radio program Dos Palabras Two Words. Ana has travelled extensively to participate in academic conferences, poetry festivals and book festivals. Francisco X. Las Torres Gemelas solo hirieron un poco la ciudad. Memoria o desamparo. The Twin Towers only wounded the city slightly. Memory or helplessness. Sewer or hell.

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On the ledge the letters, the names, like footprints of doves brought down by lightning. Burning candle. Better a candle, a humble candle, ancestral fire, set to the innocence of pain, to the announcement of abandonment. Nova York despois de morto-.