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.