Thursday, November 22, 2012

The streets of Algiers

I used to walk in the street of Algiers
As a North African with chinoise eyes
My hands and my feet all brown
Wondering why nobody looked like me
There were pigeons in the park

mountain filled with pine trees

and communal hot baths
Winter felt like death
And the wind whimpered in sadness
Until I saw the sun in a country
With two seasons in awe to the sight of banana leaves

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