A Corpse like a Homeland

My friend said that he would never disappear
Conceivably, the authority found him dead in the
park, he looked like a corpse like a homeland
the more I stayed with him, the more I sobbed

I wanted to read his motherland language of his
eyes, to learn about his country and his household
Unfortunately, it seems that he already read mine
I have forgotten to close the curtains of my griefs

I remember when he used to say that we are drops
of rain from the dark clouds falling miserably dead
on the green grass, where we live alone with a cloudy
mind and heart, we are no longer too loud but quieter

He struggled with being independent, from screaming
in tears and laughing whenever he attended a funeral
”nobody is my friend.” he used to say that while dreaming
of his dead friends from the war, until life closed its door

against him…