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It's a soft winter day
between echoes in the distance
and the sound of drizzling rain
A room
its broken window is transparent
so that nothing separates the clouds above
from the edges of the mat
The child's hand, with its five dimples
lies gently now
on the down-covered breast
He tries to suckle, between hunger and sleepiness
In the mother's eyes there is a celebratory pride
and traces of weariness
Outside the window
the everyday scene continued:
Young boys loading their slingshots
The sound of shouting, banners in the air,
Soldiers opening fire with a reckless thrill
Another boy falls martyred
onto the pavement.
Translated by Radwa
Ashour
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