Do we do a thing!
during this long miserable crawl, on our stomachs, over the detail’s thorns, only to draw someone’s attention,
anyone’s attention, to us,
that here we still, alive, breathing,
and soon we will leave,
another smell, fade in the air vastness,
then noses that have never smelled us before, will not be able to identify us.
We had come to cosmos, once, from an animated book, found by a lonely child, in a corpse pocket loved to relieve his loneliness by us,
sighed his fantasies through the drawings.
We did not tell the wind anything, while we ran naked in a wheat field,
the air was collecting our bodies sensibility, our fugitive voices,
letting them during the harvest of the last weeping,
as water’s chants, float while we drown.
– Do you know yearning?
– Perhaps, a blind chases the colour of heat in the emptiness robe.
– Do you know anyone blind?
– Perhaps, I am not seeing you now, your reflection in my pupil is just the lonely hunger to see anything except his mirrors, every morning.
– Do you know the eye?
– From the hole of a door, a boy watching a mother taking a bath, firing at her, all his lusts for women
– Have you visited your mother soon?
– A disease is what she is, occupies each nucleus in my yearning cells.
I run away from her like a snake trying to go out its skin without avail.
– And the cells?
– Coal balls that consecutively burning, and we become colder with every moment.
– And cold?
– The act of loneliness, made by a hermit lives in the far north.
– And the north?
– The longing of the mountains to be erased.
– The mountains?
– The place’s escape from the extension.
– And the place?
– A grave with two corpses.
– Houses abandoned by its inhabitants.
– And houses?
– ِA loose audition to wear graves.
– The grave?
– A door that everyone meets outside, waiting for entry.
– And entry?
– The only exit without a farewell.
– And farewell?
– Is born with the pronunciation’s beginning, feeds, grows and becomes more painful, with every word between us, completes its course when we become silent.
leaves us, toward a new chitchat, a new people.
We did not steal a thing from the water, except a nostalgia for drowning, in womb’s pond;
our boats were full of victims, we ate them body after body,
to satisfy our lust for crime and suicide.