I don’t mind the smoke,
clouds piled like soft pillows
one on top of the other
the white, the grey, the black
in mix with the orange
symbolizing the dawn of my departure;
I am blessed!
Watching with each breath of mine
Witnessing the birth
of something that I might become–
I lean on my ribs
that were supposed to be harder
if I were to be weaker,
supposed to be softer
if I were to be stronger.
I don’t mind the movement of tick–
a lullaby to caress my transcendence
from here– to nowhere
from nowhere, back to here
at the tip of my fingers
where every emotion of mine arises–
with each cry of each nail;
in these teeth of mine.
Don’t speak to me, if you’re not willing to
stare into my eyes
and burn with each look, as I do.
I don’t mind the talks, the chit–
about weather, Kim, DiCaprio, Thaçi, Trump or Kurtaj,
socialism, dictatorship, democracy…
or the topics you chose to inhale
as a form of toxic slavery, neutrality,
with chains in your hands– probably, liberation.
I am like this, now, here.
I have not chosen to be this, or to even be
so don’t– don’t stare at this flesh form
as a form of a gateway drug
to escape from your own reality,
to a false one–
like mine, like me.
Invent, become, observe if you’d like,
just don’t succumb
to other people’s dreams,
promise to your own self and be your own fan.
A sculpture, you would like to keep.
I don’t mind having to walk for hours
at 9 pm, 11, 1 or 3 am
to reach a place where children play
under the melody of a warm breeze
reach high, higher
right at the top of my head–
and my breath falls on my shoulders
like a leaf,
born in winter and dead
before it reaches spring.
and in my tears, like in a library
wide open books of knowledge speak to me–
But I don’t mind them!
I’ll forget everything,
the next dawn
when I wake up asleep.