Unborn Child

As the plants die in a dead field
As tired days have no evenings
There, a man in an old suit
Filled with devastating secrets
Sits on a golden testicle of pride.

As the smoke and the dust invaded a forbidden, hidden party
A male prostitute, wearing a colourful wig, is dancing barefoot.

Outside, in a field of opium, the weather is unkind
The smell of rotten flowers has crept into the heart of an abandoned mansion.

There, 
Surrounded by empty clouds
The fearful cry of an unborn child
With bloodshot eyes
Inside a broken unmarried mother, 
It is swirling into the dark land. 

Shahla Latifi
August, 2024