Winter has arrived
and the untethered snowflakes
hover
between
sky and earth
A cold wind begins to blow
my steps slip
I read the news
there is a bitter taste
What difference does it make
whether with a gesture of your hands
you deliver an order
or
pull a trigger
Anger in empty hands
hands holding a fist of stones
hands without guns
hands over hands
without doubt
they are many
Hands
that claw faces
bloody
hands
that form circles of connection
hands
that splash color of name and shame
on the wall of silence
Your heart feels heavy
I know
from heart to heart
there is a path
even if the ground
is frozen
The ominous sound of gunfire
reaches us
every day
blank rounds
practice shots
rubber
yet the dead
are real
A pale smoke
has spread through the street
burning the eyes
perhaps of the same sharp kind
as the smell
that once fell over Halabja
A trash bin
is the only safe shelter
that now and then
bursts into flame
The untethered snowflakes
have covered the ground
in white
perhaps there is news
that has not yet
emerged from the frozen pocket of the night
Arsalan – Wiesbaden
January 4, 2026
