segunda-feira, 11 de maio de 2015

A boca do tubarão

"God, do you know how difficult it is, to talk about the day your own city dragged you by the hair, past the old prison, past the school gates, past the burning torsos erected on poles like flags? When I meet others like me I recognise the longing, the missing, the memory of ash on their faces. No one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark. I’ve been carrying the old anthem in my mouth for so long that there’s no space for another song, another tongue or another language... I tore up and ate my own passport in an airport hotel. I’m bloated with language I can’t afford to forget."

- Warsan Shire

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