Wadi Mhiri
Ready to rape the heavens, the black missile stands imposing and proud, waiting its turn. Like a historical monument, scrolling through the centuries, it seems to hold a certain wisdom and resignation marked by an invasion of fossilized anise flowers on its feet.
The black missile is incubated in the abysses. It sees its life flash before its eyes and its destiny etched in its deepest subconscious. Its sights set on bombing, destroyed cities and stolen lives are under its sole influence and power. In its crosshairs, black plumes flower throughout the contested land. Its next deflowering makes a prominent victim: Syria.
An honorable choice that can only fill it with great pride, it disintegrates the tens of thousands of stones that make up history, flourishing economy, and humanity down to the last grain of sand.
Such is the history of mankind, some die for others to live. Cities razed for others to take their essence and pass it from hand to hand. Resources coveted and confiscated in hope of a better life, better conditions, a better evolution… but until when?
Text written by Neila Mhiri and translated by Anne Marie Butler
