World Literature:
Sheema Kalabasi
Kaddish
And on the eighth day
God created his bloody sore,
the Middle East.
Where only the streets
Silently
Speak of the dead,
Where the buttercups
Cups, cups are red
From blood,
Where bodies are tossed
In oil, oil
hot, hot oil.
Don’t burn your finger God
On the ziz,
Red, red ziz.
