![]() ![]() Pain, why did you behave so grotesquely, did you not feel anything when you You chop her fingers, why did you rape those girls, why did you inflict so much Of those who’ve committed them and the ones who’ve endured them. There seems to be a strange complicity in the voices ![]() Of the Occupation war, the concentration camps, of atrocities, of power, ofīelonging, of separation. In the cacophony of faint whispers, they’re telling me loud stories The voices are many they crave for attention they want toīe heard. Like a savage, the cloudy white scatter engulfs me, eating parts of me, making them disappear I’m walking but I don’t see my legs. The heaviness conceived by the eyes isn’t really there I don’t feel anything but a tingle as I trespass further. I wonder if the ubiquitous mist protects or hides what lies underneath it looks heavy, yet balancing itself perfectly it’s movement, if any, is inconspicuous. It’s beautiful, but is that why it’s strange? I hear voices but I can’t see anything. There’s something strange about the place. ![]() In the middle of the forest, amidst the plantations, I see a garden a quaint Japanese garden. ![]()
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