Subtitle: In Mecca.
K Hassan
They sat still
in a room with velvet walls—
where clocks ran backward,
and the flags were made of mirrors.
A wizard in a suit
whispered ancient words:
“Let lead become gold... let villains be kings...
Let ink erase blood.”
On the table:
a dossier of crimes
—minaret-high—
zipped into a leather folder.
A bouquet of sanctions.
A silver tray of amnesia.
The president—
yesterday’s shadow,
today’s sunrise—
wore a crown of unspoken apologies
and shoes stitched from old headlines.
He offered a handshake—
but his fingers?
Crossed behind his back.
And so were theirs.
Outside—
the world spun faster,
gravity replaced by convenience.
Reporters scribbled new histories
on napkins that dissolved in water.
In the corner,
Lady Justice
traded her blindfold
for rose-tinted glasses—
and danced
with the ghosts of red lines.
The wizard clapped:
“Behold! The alchemy of enemies—
a terrorist reborn as a statesman,
a war repackaged as progress,
a handshake that erases memory!”
And the velvet room echoed with applause
as reality slipped quietly
out the side door... Unnoticed.
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