Strange men


Strange men smile at me
in a language I do yet not know
how to speak.

I was taught to lower my gaze,
why weren’t they taught not to stare.

Their whistles sound like bulletshots,
hitting my soul deeper than my body.

I was taught to cover my body,
why weren’t they taught not to shoot.

Crooked smiles with sharp teeth
and eyes full of satanic lust,
waiting in the corners of the city, lurking in the darkness of sin.

I was taught not to sin,
why weren’t they taught to repent.

Jehona Thaqi ©