Tatemae

It is written.

Maktub.

 

So she walks,

Silently sweeping sand,

Sandals gingerly touch

The earth.

 

It is written,

Maktub.

 

So he fights,

Swift blows swinging,

Sweaty palms clench

The air.

 

It is written,

Maktub.

 

So she prays,

Invisible messages sent,

Searching souls pierce,

The silence.

 

It is written,

Maktub.

 

So they hide,

Sinful seeds sowed,

Rebellious sighs serenade,

The moon.

 

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