What makes( builds) a town-
Two houses and one street
A crossing
A door bell
A door mat
Moving the house is so inevitable 
Like the spilling of rice 
from the torn(broken) sack.
I boil the sulphur porridge on the fire,
I bread(feed, host) the guests,
So that I could shroud you trace
With the smoke,
What is  a war-
Two swords
And one horse.
If you untangle 
The knot of my hair
 from the  armour,
if you- child of God
break through the egg shell 
everybody will call you his own wife
and his own substance( earnings) ,
ten years of siege-
ten folds of my dress,
what is a woman?
Two breasts,
 I am one womb
On these dusty roads,
As I dragged myself as a dress hem-
Nothing else-
Is a hexameter of that poem

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