On Survival

While running for our lives; I shouted to my trembling friend:
"Did you ever believe that life had a taste?"

His frightened voice came:

"Even when survival becomes your only goal, life never loses its taste"

He said,

"When you stare into death's eyes, you experience life's real taste"

His words made us run faster and we survived that day again!
We cried:
"We are still alive!"
what a pleasant thing to say!!

Suddenly came a roaring voice:

"" When your daily prayer becomes

'God, I've survived today, will I survive tomorrow?'

You do not actually experience any taste
For by then you are, already, dead ""

We never believed in what the voice said
We still felt that life did have a taste:

For bitterness is also considered to be a taste

Actually, it's the mother of all other tastes!

On Murdered Stories

“Page 24”

She said,
“You are telling me to leave this place; you are even asking me to leave! Don’t you love me?”

I said,

“Please leave. This land is haunted by stories and whispers of those lovers who were caught. When they were discovered, their love stories were murdered and they were never buried.
Those dead stories still roam the city during the nights, looking for those in love to warn them. They visited me, my love!
I want our story to survive; but all love stories die young in a place where the word “behead” is heard a lot. I want you to leave. They will find us for our story is a very loud one”

Her eyes were now shining from behind her tears, she hugged me and said :

“I will leave so that our story can remain alive; it should never become a ghost. I will leave because I love you, good bye, sailor, please survive”

Now I think,
"Darling, have you just realized how unique this place is?

Whether the story dies or stays alive
Lovers will never live side by side"

On Impressions

"Page 20"

.....I told him,

"If you ever need me; I will be there; I will be the one to save you from all your madness"

But when he was sinking I was so taken by the ocean; I never saw his waving arm

I know that he forgave me for he also appreciated the ocean

I even know he never wanted my hand but to say Good Bye!
.............

May you rest in peace!

-To be continued

On Books

“Page 13”

How beautiful were those books!
The more I read; the closer the sea appeared to be.
I discovered in my books that there was a world behind those walls!!

There was a world full of books.

A world in which live those who write the books and those who read them.
I told my wise grandmother I befriended the words.

I told her that I was no longer afraid of the words.
Only then she cried; and took all of my books.
She told me to never trust the words; for they have made many become just a memory; a memory that would never be mentioned in any book!

She said, "if you want to survive in this land, your enemies should be the words"

On Barbed Wires

Winter, 2002

She laughed and asked loudly, “Why do you have all these barbed wires everywhere in this land?”

I looked around; lowered my voice, swallowed my words a dozen times before they finally betrayed me and flied:
In this land we love barbed wires and barbed wires love us!

We share a history.
They are part of the language. We have our special alphabet; an alphabet that has an emphasis of a barbed wire on every letter.
They are part of life and death, for they accompany us from life to death.
Every one had touched them once; I even know someone who collected them, and wait, I know a girl who wore one as her favorite necklace.
They fit so much into the scene; my eyes will, unconsciously, draw one around whatever they see.

She said; “And I was wondering what was that pain I had once you kissed me; I just now realized what is that encircling your lips”

On Don Quixote

From Page 20:

My father asked me, “How did you come up with that?

Didn't you hear of Don Quixote?”

I told him,

"I once had an army of them
Every night they gathered around me, for I was their spiritual leader
I never let the warriors down
I shared with comrades Quixote all the visions I had
I built for them the windmills
Then I waited for the fight to start
But the windmills DID become ugly monsters; that was not the vision I had
In the story they blamed Don Quixote; but here, I was the one to take the blame
I hug my pillow and sank into it, trying not to listen to their anguish and cries!
They could no longer conquer the windmills; and I could no longer kill the monsters.
I was called a betrayer and I was sentenced for eternal sailing!"

My father said I might never reach the sea!