The words start deep.

and race to my lips.

My mouth opens,

poised to speak.


The wind rustles,

sands swirl.

A lone bird caws.


Silence slides around my feet.

I stand


between speaking me


hiding, quiet.

So many years of quiet.


The moon waits, silvery.

The earth turns, slowly, till

the sun rises to a new day.


The words start. Then stop.

They start.


Then finally, they fall.

Fall onto the page,

nourishing the cracked veins of my soul.

—Diane Douiyssi

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Photo credit: reza shayestehpour