Where words seem to you a source of confidence and proof of life,
You take me mercilessly into exile!
Where days pour out in cold sweat
And things hide behind their vague meanings...
We may explain what is behind us!
And we may predict what is to come,
But who will explain the present to us?
Neither words, nor successive dots, nor exclamation marks,
And we have nothing in our hands but the difficult whiteness...
Painting by Amir Khatib
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