by Ali Znaidi
It’s been roughly hours since
the mosquitoes left the dunghills.
Waves after waves, they encircled the street lantern;
dimming its eye filled with wind dust.
I was smoking a cigarette near the window.
The sound got more and more sharpening.
My skin began to itch.
The weak mosquitoes,
unable to reach
the lantern, just reached my skin, trying to
dim my eyes filled with sleep dust.
The rain began to fall,
saving my eyes from the luciferous mosquitoes,
but kept me awake till the first morning light.
I just relished in
the collapse of the capitalist mosquitoes
under the rain’s flails.
The wet cigarette in my mouth
left me in ecstasy.
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