Woe to you desert of Libya
Whose whim tears mortals
As slaves, I invoke the spirit
Of love over hate on you

The desert crying voice
Whispering in angst
as unfiltered sand has no divisions
So the blood of human

Human be treated as human
O shore of libya
What's your libation offering?
O dervish beings of divers gain

What i see as vision
Is mortalized fuel
For fossil fuel turn
against you in rebellion

Shore of libya
Your border
can be peaceful
and loveful

just
as
it
use
to
be

Where is your lost glory
Do you mean your good days
are gone as readily evil
drop your weapons

And understand each other
Your shore will shine as the star on your flag
O Libya, why has your eyes turn black?

Written by
Martin Ijir

It was morning but not quite morning

Far off the solemn winter slowly thawed

And I’d seen you before, my inscrutable, silent companion,

We moved dreamlike, like nomads, toward a setting sun.

Before the rains came

Billowing out and across the wide open pampas

And I understood you then, as we can only know what is unmapped

Blanketed by the comfort of the pre-dawn

Around the campfire looking up at the stars

That were as clear as that journey we made.

All of these words
formed without breath
is magic against death
and all of this ends
with to be continued
I wave so long
with a handkerchief
to the horses on the range
of my dreams
and every scene is sculptured
from wood with splintered
fingers ruptured
with the blood of my brothers.

My father and I
lie down together.

He is dead.

We look up at the stars,
the steady sound
of the wind turning
the night like a ceiling fan.

This is our home.

I remember the work in him
like bitterness in persimmons
before the first frost,
and I imagine the way he feared
the pain, the ground turning
dark in the rain.

Now he gets up
and I dream he looks down
into my brown eyes
that may as well been his.

He weeps and says goodbye,
my son, I don't want to
go yet, but I can't wait
around to watch you die.