The Stranger (1) Poem by Abdulkarim Baderkhan

His eyes record all the boring details
like lances in the hands of Tarkovsky,
His eyes have seen in thirty years
What a whole nation sees in thousand years.
Where does go with his eyes?
How can he run away from a memory full of tears and blood?
He has images
That fill all the walls of the world with death notices,
Stabs in the back
Can make a sieve out of the sky,
And humiliation
Which a whole life of glories cannot erase.