Metamorphosis on July 11th

As I am standing on the cliff of the world that just ended
on extremely hot summer day of July
facing emptiness of the traumatized landscape
screams and images of those who vanished – as I wish or have to believe,
to preserve the faith in humanity –
my brain, nor my being is capable of processing the memory of overwhelmed acknowledgment I encounter years ago
on extremely hot summer day of July
standing in the the factory of massive destruction
where people and moral values were executed in unthinkable ways
surrounded with all my school colleagues and over voice that introduces us with the terror of which I refuse to talk in statistics
yet alone with those who are gone
seeing their faces, trying to imagine their despair and pain
falling deep down to the bottom of known darkness and proceeding towards earth core to meet Lucifer
On extremely hot summer day of July
the scream freeze in my throat, its stuck for years already and cannot be moved, removed or smashed
it breaths with me as an active volcano I hide in my chest
that erupts once a year
on extremely hot summer day of July
Our tears are colored with blood.
Our memories are materialized in white gravestones on the green field.
Our fears can be heard in grief of mother’s who’s children were never found.
That day, on July 11th, when I stepped into death
I metamorphosed into butterfly
that lives and dies over the graveyard.
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