I once swam to the depths of a river in Thailand before a splendid waterfall. I was the only tourist who wore silly-looking goggles. When I started swimming to the surface there was a rush of light. Near-solid streaks came towards me.
That same light I saw today while I was driving. Winter skies broken by streaks of sunlight, but the sun was not at all visible. Just the brilliance, and how I was left gasping for breath.
They come in a rain of flames and screams.
They seek the softness of flesh,
cracking points of bones.
But many of them unleash the horror
of their intent when all is quiet.
In silence they lurk
among the bushes. Still. Sinister.
Patient. Someone will walk
past them one day. Perhaps
someone who collects metal
scraps for a living.
Or maybe a child
will notice just one of them
with a bright yellow tail
playfully beckoning in the wind:
Take me. Take me.
Take me that I may be
One with your tender flesh.
Sometimes there will not even be a scream.
Abdullah Yaqoob - DCA Archive
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