Snapshots from My Diary

On days I don’t write

I think of ways to die.


I am suddenly reminded of

War bodies under the infinite sky

Starved bodies, dead.

Bodies from the borders

floating head down on our seas.

Female bodies, on which

they calculate the circumference

of flesh and blood, and

mark points of highs and lows.

Bodies burnt alive or stripped

For skin tone and holy truths.


The living moment seems heavy

It threatens me with an endless mirage

of distant time.

It seems tiring to fill in the hours

amidst the uncertainty logic.

To wear all those over grown costumes of everyday

To eat, sleep and work on a daily basis.

To smile, love and talk to fellow humans.


Time stands still, like a breath

I forgot to inhale.


I stare out from my kitchen window, and

withdraw to that corner on my bed, where

I cuddle every night, into

some unknown womb


It’s not about being lazy, But

a call of death by depression in its most sane avatar.

The reminders flying high, like eagles crossing the seas

Before I lose myself to the deluge of colorless dreams

And the sight of a swing, abandoned on a winter day.



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