Rochdi

With herLittle BrittleCold hand,She wrote:I.S.L.A.MOn the hot sand;And all of a suddenLight came out of the spotOn which she used to stand.It was a dreamPainted by the screamOf the river stream.The dream was herNobody could take it awayNo, nobody, No way!With herLittle BrittleCold hand,She wrote:I.S.L.A.MOn the hot sand;And it wasAs though the landBecame “another land”Only serene lightsRadiant smilesAnd peaceful nights.No injusticeNo miseryNo war,No obscu...