Weird you were my yesterday
I thought I can forget you one day
Although it's been years since you passed away
But it's for me still like yesterday
I was there holding her hand
Talking and laughing, walking on the land
It was a good memory for my mind to stay
But fate had another opinion to display
Passing the street we were aiming
But death with his wings started to slaughter
Down on the ground she was laying
Covered in blood she returned to the father
After all this years of tears and sorrows
And my heart killed by saints with arrows
The night she died was for me the last day
So weird you were my yesterday
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
In the Whirlwind is a poetic storm that frees history from the cages of corruption and puts it in the hands of everyday people. Words are weaved into a new fashion statement that has nothing to do with runways but everything to do with projects!
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