There was a time when She was dry.
Oh yes, so dry like a summer’s heat day in the sandy landscapes.
The thirst left white salty traces on the corners of Her lips.
The sun scarbed grooves around Her cheekbones.
The sun ray’s white rested on Her nose, between Her eyes, as a many-legged star.
The eyebrows were squeezing, mitigating the brightness.
Oh my, where are my arms taking me? When did I reach out to the sky to touch the sun? I had His name. It lies on the tip of my awareness. But now it’s too hot. I can’t recall.
Aseda once had a hat, but She did not like the color of it and left it at the entrance of the hotelier’s place unnoticed. Now She was regretting it. The burning heat was weighing on Her shoulders.
The pilgrimage started in … three months before she took the drain to Kairo. It was 2022, the year of love. Love? Her name was Love. Hers and her sister’s.