Mercedes Benz

The stretched hands of a peace sign crossed
the shiny red crane of  the new social order.
I shut my eyes not to see
the whirling body of the forth class citizen
striving for shade on a sunny pavement of my country.
Is there a bottom line that your dignity would hit
when you cease to be human,
and become living meat,
an animal roasting on  the cement of the city?

the lost order of things

I lost myself
somewhere in between the sliding doors of the metro train
and the open window of the bus
the heart of the forest girl hit the wall of oblivion
with thoughts galloping like black horses
following the words and photographs of the speedy city at 2 PM on a Summer day.
Was it a plan of fortune
Or unfortunate turn of events that
made me stand with my eyes closed and the hand extended in the middle of the crossroads?
A tree with tired branches and brownish leaves of a thirty and five springs of greyish hair
that lost touch with the landscape and begged for directions lost in the traffic of events.
Dear God... Please come and find me for I lost myself
somewhere in between the sliding doors of my own mind
and the open window of other hands around me,
find me so that the horses could graze again on the plains surrounding the green land of the forest.

Ironic, iconic, but not interesting

After everything had been said between you and me, why do I still feel restless and wait for your unspoken words.
Why do I speak to you with my eyes closed and imagine that maybe somewhere far you are now thinking about me the way I do of you.
I don't even know you. Ironic, isn't it?
Iconic, isn't it?
But not interesting. Interesting would have too many syllables to cover the distance between us. I never thought of myself as interesting, have you?
I miss you... these days I miss you in a blue colour of an open sky. 
Simple as that.
Missing that human that you were.
       

Silence

I have chosen silence, it is a very prominent figure of speech. Sometimes remaining silent can help you in finding the dignity that was lost while the words were flowing out of its own, as if they had their own independent existence that you cannot control.  They floated and floated (would be great if you could sometimes help me to find a synonym for floating, I always admire how good you are with words, while for me they stick to my skin like little drops of sweat that has a salty taste after I finish my rehearsal) but they couldn't reach anywhere. Is there always somewhere where one has to reach? Can't we just float (see - again a synonym would be needed) aimlessly through life enjoying the sweetest bites of it? Eating life like children having chocolates - open a box and pick up anyone you want and you imagine that the box would never become empty. Or you secretly enjoy the sweet taste of things in your mouth... hidden somewhere behind an old tree, your grandmother's dress or simply sitting on a bed in your room? I love licking chocolate when it melts on my fingers. Developed the taste for it when I was a real child, but I had told you this story before. 
I don't even know if you are enjoying my stories. They are becoming shorter and shorter every day. I think I'm tired. Sometimes it feels as if every word was taking away a bit of me, wiping me away from the surface of the earth. As if  I were the chocolate melting in your eyes when you are reading this. A playwright once told me that writing is a very private affair, something that drains him out and makes him feel that he doesn't want a company of people around him anymore. 
Can a soul hold somebody's soul in the arms? Can you hold me now?
 I think I'm melting.
Silence is a very prominent figure of speech. Can you break it? As if you were breaking a glass, a brick or a wall? I hate walls around me.... Can a soul hold anther soul? Silence... Figure of speech... break... wall... silence...

The lost words

I lost some words. I don't remember if it was me who let them go, or was it the words that wanted to run away from me. 
Little "I love you" run away from my blue skirt, but it stood in front of a huge old mirror with a wooden frame and suddenly got scared of its own distorted face which read "I hate you".
So "i love you" run away and hid behind it's mother. Other words tried to run away too, they wanted to be a string of pearls that I write on the keyboard but the dyslectic writer mixed them up a bit: Do you stillll memberre how the green taste apple????
Other words got stuck in my mouth when i was to shout them loud so that a child of the desert could hear them properly, but they refused to leave when the time was needed... They are sitting now somewhere in the company of grapes and green apples. Laughing like mad children, while I search for them sweeping under my new bed.
The words that are lost..... will they ever be found???

Nawfar and the sea of stories

There once was a girl who was found in a small bundle somewhere by the sea. And no, her name was not Sita, She could have had many names but we can call her Nawfar in this story.
She was a daughter of a fisherman and it was only few months after her birth that the tiny vessel of her father reached the island where she and her mother lived. When father saw Nawfar for the first time he could not believe how such an ugly child could have been his....
Only few days ago on a moonlit night did he proclaim to his tribe that Nawfar was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.
Nawfar was always close to the water and all the fishermen treated her as if she was their own daughter. And sometimes it even seemed true to me - as if she was the child of feeling and emotions that all the fishermen carried into the ocean.
The life was simple and she floated through various days, months, hours.... Until one day she noticed that people no longer acknowledge her presence....
She was surprised and could not understand why...
She wasn't beautiful, this she knew from the beginning, but still she had a gift of listening and talking to those who sat close to her. People still sat around her, but they no longer looked into her eyes. They looked somewhere beyond her and she could not understand the change that happened so suddenly. Until one day she looked back to see her own shadow sitting on a bench and laughing while pearls would drop gently from her mouth into the people's extended palms.
Oh, no..... How come nobody want me for who I am? Why is only the beauty and magnificence of the shadow that they appreciate? People still kept coming to Nawfar whenever they needed help, whenever some work had to be done, a task to be completed. But the gaze of people and their smiles were no longer directed at  Nawfar. It was only the shadow that they smiled at.
She din't know what to do to show them that she is still herself and it's just a shadow that they all admire so much. So one day she took huge scissors and cut the shadow away from her long blue skirt.
 She threw the shadow at the people, while she herself jumped into the river... And she floated with the stream....... Remember she was a fisherman's child so she knew how to swim through highest waters. Until one day a child played by the side of the river in a desert and caught the bundle in his hand..... but that's another story, you know....

Dari Joocchu Chunnaree...