Clouds
There it was then
the procession of the clouds.
In front the sea clouds, black and storm-laden.
They destroyed entire villages
drowning the animals
in their night-black rain.
Lastly the small ones came
with the colours of bats,
skins of barbed wire,
tattered ends of teeth and daggers.
They streamed over the plain
and the distant houses.
When the last one had disappeared
the wind curled up
in the silence,
a dangerous dog.
We were left behind as no one
in our villages of nothing,
spectres of never more the same
with for ever the ashes and the smell
of the end.
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