Swing marionette
I became a grave,
without a headstone to bear a name,
without a body to mourn.
A swing suspended in your hands,
caught between the sky of your love
and the earth of your hatred.
An in and out, of inhaling hopes and
unleashing cries.
But who cares about a marionette?
They see only the innocence
that the show conveys.
But the truth is revealed
only to those like me,
who believed the promise:
In my hands, you are the soul.
--- h.harouche











