The sun cooks our heads. There is no water in my skin, and sweat does not quench my thirst. Neither I nor the child have anything except patience under the lashes of the sun, and the milk of the udder with which we crowded into dialogue, and a prophe ...
The sun cooks our heads. There is no water in my skin, and sweat does not quench my thirst. Neither I nor the child have anything except patience under the lashes of the sun, and the milk of the udder with which we crowded into dialogue, and a prophecy that a cloud that will not return brought to me. Is Kuwait a cloud that heralds what is not coming? Or a mirage that cannot be affected by eternal distance? Or a star that guides us to all paths except one that leads to it? I seem to be dying. I find her dead on the back of my camel. When the attendant enters with her son, they meet Sari, and my son meets whom?
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