EllusiveID: when IDs are illusive and elusive.

I miss you

2008-10-24T04:31:00.000+02:00

absolute in love

2008-02-08T23:03:00.000+02:00

I might be absolute in love;
I give all that I have

I might be absolute in love,
because I give all that
I have,
and I have you

I am radical in my love
I am ready to let go
to let you slip out of
my fingers
like rain

I am total in my love
so it includes all the
little details in “us”:
drops of water in our showers,
last gazes you gave me in airports
even hair you left in beds of hotels

I am absolute in love
I give all that I have
and do not have

I might be absolute in love
looking for someone
that you are not

how beautiful it is
to fall in love
how beautiful it is
to fall in love with
someone that is you
but not you…

I might be paradoxical in my love
I let go of that I mostly cling to
and I cling to those moments
of feelings…of emotions…of dreams
I violently want to detach from.

I might be absolute in love,
waiting for an unwanted guest
to knock on my door…
I open and she gives me
a gift
that I am obliged to accept
out of Arab generosity…
or culture of respect.

I might be paradoxical in love
I accept the unacceptable
predict the unpredictable
and diffuse all stories
compressed in a coffee cup
told by an old woman
whose hands hide a history
of a thousand years old.

I do not feel jealous

2008-01-10T10:01:00.001+02:00

I do not feel jealous…
when you make love
to your lovers.

I do not feel jealous…
when others tell you
how beautiful you are
or how just on sunset times,
you replace the sun…

I do not feel jealous…
even when other lovers
take your hand
and walk you home…

I do not feel jealous,
at those instances
I am supposed
to feel jealous.

But, my lady, how I feel jealous
imagining you dancing
without me…

when you dance you make love to me;
when you dance you are the sun;
when you dance you take my hand and
walk me home.

imaging you dancing…
without me…I feel
very jealous.

I do not resemble your other lovers

2007-06-05T15:58:00.000+03:00

three women fell in love with you,
three women are after you:
the one who always comes in the worst timing;
the one who no Youm Kippour on earth will
clear her mind from you;
and me, who always leaves with the winds...
----------------------

here where i agree with Nizar Qabbani's poem:

I do not resemble your other lovers, my lady
should another give you a cloud
I give you rain
Should he give you a lantern, I
will give you the moon
Should he give you a branch
I will give you the trees
And if another gives you a ship
I shall give you the journey.

and if i said i love you...(audio version)

2007-06-05T15:13:00.001+03:00

http://odeo.com/show/13043303/2086743/download/AndIfISaidILoveYou.mp3

and if i said i love you...

2007-06-04T14:09:00.001+03:00

[to A.]

and if i said i love you
what will happen to the sun?
will it stop its circles and follow me?
and if i said that the sky only reminds me of you
will the moon leave the blankets of its night
and come to me?

my love, that changes the order of things,
i still remember your smell
leading me to uninhabited corners
of every village i pass by
and your hair...
how your hair
used to transform me into an olive tree
that resists all oppressions

my love, how i still live the dream
of you and me
leaving all that matters in our lives
and follow our dreams
so i keep on forgetting how to live again
how to wake up with every morning
how to wash myself
how to prepare Arabic coffee
and how to drink it with no sugar...

my love, that keeps on moving
underneath my skin
and unfolding my imaginary gifts...
what shall i gift you today?
a river? when your tears are all rivers!
a moon? when it was named after your eyes!
a word? when all words live in your lips!
what shall i gift you today?
my life? when i have forgotten how to live it?

and if i said i love you
what will happen to the sun?
will it rise again with every morning
to remind me of your smiles?
or will it give up my
obsessions with your smiles...?

my love to you is turning
my life upside down
changing the laws of astronomy
the laws of languages
and leaving me puzzled
helplessly chasing an imaginary
memory of your gaze
in the eyes of wild deers
that are known by their shyness.

and if i said i love you
will the sun ever rise again,
giving the unpredictability of
the consequences
of these words,
on the order of things?

2007-05-12T18:16:00.000+03:00

it is amazing
how life takes you
to directions
that only the birds know of...

words

2007-05-12T08:57:00.000+03:00

[to A.]

he whispered in my ears
words of passion
but how i couldn't
not think of you...
he told me how he
would fuck me
and how i would enjoy it...
but how i couldn't
not think of fucking you...
although i would have loved
to touch his dick and feel some
flesh with my hands
and although i wished
to be penetrated
i also wished it was you.

he whispered in my ears
words of beauty
but how i couldn't
not imagine you,
with your lips smiling
reminding me of the sun
when it rises,
violently...
as a surprise
every morning...
as if life has its own logic.
how i couldn't not
feel your hair
when he touched my hair
and told me how much he
adored it.

he whispered in my ears words
that are not like all the rest...
and i could not help it but,
remember how your voice
swims inside my chest
moving my lungs
and making it impossible
to breath.

he whispered all sorts of
words...
and all i could hear
were the letters
that compose your name...

wishes of an exile

2007-05-12T01:41:00.000+03:00

on the roads just
outside the city of
Ottawa...
where life seems dead
"ya allah, ya allah! [Oh God, oh God!]
I wish...", A'reen said,
"I could sit on a balcony
and watch people
as they pass by
to their work
to their homes,
how I wish I had
a balcony...
If we were in Lebanon
all these roads
by these villages
would be filled with people."

imaginary exit

2007-05-12T01:26:00.000+03:00

In a cafe'
I sat tired and the sun
melting my eyes,
although arabesque coffee desperately kept me awake,
I took my glasses off
a school bus passed by
the window
and the 'emergency exit'
written on its body
for some reason
read as 'imaginary exit'.

Away from blog

2007-03-09T03:31:00.000+02:00

I am still alive
just busy with university work...

be back soon inshallah.

سلوى لن تعود/ Salwa is not going back.

2006-12-16T21:38:00.000+02:00

A Palestinian man once told me his story of departure, so I wrote this poem:

:التقيت برجل فلسطيني وحدثني قصه رحيله فكتبت هذا الشعر

سلوى لن تعود
تذكرت رحيلها
في الساعه الرابعه صباحاً
قبل اربعين عام
تركت شفاعمرو
سياره محمله
بحقائب السفر
اناس يودعون
الموكب
وسلوى شهدت
جنازتها
وهي على قيد الحياه

Salwa is not going back.
She remembers her departure
at four in the morning
fourty years ago
she left Shfa’amr
a car loaded with
traveling luggages
passed as
people were waving
and Salwa witnessed
her funeral alive.

لن اكون

2006-12-05T06:27:00.000+02:00

تقولين اني غائبه
غير موجوده
في ظل النهار
غير واقعيه...
واين انت؟

القاكِ ليومين
لساعتين
واصارع الزمان
وتجعدات جلدي
والقاك ثانية
فلا تكوني

الكيان
لا يتواجد وحدهُ
فمن غير الغياب
لا موسيقى ولا شكل لهُ

اينك ايام الخميس
عندما يعود العمال؟
عندما تعود طلاب المدارس
وتتلملم في ارصفة الشوارع
بقع العودة؟

الوجود
يمزقني احياناً
ويأكلني
حيةً
احياناً اخرى
ويُبقي لكِ تبعثرات
جسدي

حينها تعودين اليّ
بكامل كيانك
وحينها اتلاشى
خلف احجبة النساء
وبين فراغات اللإختفاء

في لحظات

2006-12-05T06:20:00.000+02:00

في لحظاتٍ يا حبيبتي
خِلتُني قصيدهً
كتبتها عيناكِ
في لحظاتٍ لم يعد
فيها للزمن معنى
خلتُني بخاراً
يتطايرُ اليكِ.

في لحظات توقف
فيها دورانُ الارض
قبلتني يا حبيبتي
وعانقتني وكأني القمر
ولامستي أطراف
يا شمسي وكأني الليل,
فقلبنا قوانين الطبيعه
فالجاذبيه انعدمت
والطاقه انصهرت
والحركه تعطلت

هكذا هيّجنا الكون
في لحظات من
ارتعاشات وتأوهات
حتى انقطاع النفس.

أحبكِ يا فوضتي
يا تياراً بعكس
التيارات
يقلب القواعد
والمعادلات
يُغيَّر نبض قلبي
تدفق دمي
ووظائف اعضائي

في أقل من لحظات!
التي عبرت
لأعود عوده المجانين
الى واقعٍ لم يعد
يحويني بقواعده
فأصير شاذه
لا منطقيه
أبحث عنك
يا جنوني
في حبات دوائي
في عقاقير الهوس
لأجدك انت بخاراً يتطايرُ
لأجدك لكن
في قصائدي!

I want to be a poet

2006-12-04T22:29:00.000+02:00

I want to be a poet
a great poet like you
a passionate poet
that concurs the earth in her poems
invades thousands of women's hearts
turns the globe upside down
to come home
to my arms
a defeated
empress who
could not concur
my heart.

Remains of a body that does not gather/ شظايا جسد لا تتركب

2006-11-28T19:14:00.000+02:00

غضبي يمزق جسدكِ الى اجزاء
يبعثرك اعضاءا شقفا كالفسيفساء
لكن لن يعود ليركبكِ
بل سيترُكُكِ
أبداً
مُ شَ تَ تَ ه

‏09‏ آب‏، 2006

My anger tears your body into pieces
disperses your organs into a mosaic
but it will not come back to form you
it will leave you
forever
S C A T T E R E D

August 9, 2006

Maybe I am crazy!

2006-11-27T07:31:00.000+02:00

I know it's over...
still I cling...

[the smiths]

Last night I dreamt

2006-11-24T04:21:00.000+02:00

Last night
I dreamt
I was licking
a vagina
that suddenly
with no alarm
or a sign
turned
intolerantly
tasteless

Kill me in your poems

2006-11-15T18:43:00.000+02:00

Kill me in your poems
one time or more,
transform me in your
bed
into melted iron
that burns the earth
at the end of the world
as the Zoroastrians say.

Burn your poems that
mention me…
one by one,
with no exception
but please keep
the ashes
so they remind you of
the impossibility of
divorcing suffering from love

Love me like a great
poet, be my
Nizar Qabbani,
who becomes a prophet,
if his lover,
loves him.
who asks his lover
to attack him with her
breasts, hungry wolves…
chewing him slowly.

maybe if you kill me
in your poems
I will rise from death,
to love you…
and maybe then
your poetry will
breath me
alive
again.

Maybe then
you will
become a prophet
wondering around
in the desert
searching for my
deserted home.
all the desert
is my home.
all the poems
are my poems.
but you,
but you...
kill me in your
poems,
so I can breath again,
the love I wanted
to kiss you,
the passion I seek to
penetrate in you.

Please do not stop
killing me in your
poem,
so I can come back
a nomad,
to your arms
to yet
another home.

Responsibility

2006-11-14T21:04:00.000+02:00

She told me that her vagina is my responsibility. I need to make sure that everything is in its place, every hair in its location, not much nor less. Her pleasure is my responsibility, I should make sure she is getting what she needs exactly in the accurate amount she needs it. Whenever she needs it I should have the exact minutes to bring it to her, even if I was super busy with work, volunteering, studies or life.
She told me that her vagina is my responsibility, my business and my master piece of art that I should make sure nothing harmful happens to it. Although I usually like to share and not own, I tried my best to be responsible.

But I am sorry; my pleasure comes from seeing you being shared with others than me and then your vagina becomes everyone’s responsibility.

Against the Romance of Relationships

2006-11-06T08:20:00.000+02:00

(A weird text I wrote with no 'logical' thinking really...full of internal paradoxes)

After a brief experience in life and relationships, not that I had many, but sometimes enough two or three to understand that something is wrong with them, or in other words, you do not need to eat the whole rotten egg to understand that it is rotten. Thus, I declare today that I am against the romnaticization of relationships, and I go for, vote or choose romance instead, with no attachment to relationship.
Needless to say, anything that the human animal does is related to social forces and social relationships, I am not relating to this basic or original understanding of relationships. When I say relationship I mean this defined, confined, limited, closed and exceptional connection between two people, especially in romantic/semi-romantic connections.

We live in a world that tends to romanticize the particularity of monogamous relationship and even the idea of partnerships in the first place. I used to think like that too, and there is nothing wrong with this idea if you believe in it deep inside your heart, that might have been or have not be broken before. But relationships, especially those which are closed/limited/exceptional, are like food without salt, and is there a place on earth that does not add salt to food? Maybe there is, and if it exists then I rather never even think of moving to live there.

So what’s wrong with relationships?

The answer lies in the three determinist- ontological- concepts of 1) there-is or there-isn’t, 2) now or never, 3) and nothing or all. Or in other words it lies in the absolute (and the violent) enforcement of binarism or binary system of thought on life.

First, when two people meet and they connect on a romantic level, main questions to ask, thus: is there a relationship between us or isn’t? Are we partners, yet? Am I your ultimate love? Can we kiss now?

Second follows the idea of urgency to commitment that is linked to the idea of the once-in-a-life-opportunity and that two people are linked together and if it was to be postponed it, simply, would never happen. So we must pursue and cherish this moment and connect with no second thought, or maybe the second thought comes later, but who is going there anyways!

Third, is the idea of either we are partners or we are not. The ‘not’ could be friends, enemies or colleagues and so on, but any ambivalent possibility is unwanted, such as an open relation, so ‘either you are mine and I am yours, or else everyone goes home’!

Those three elements are widely considered to be the basics of any relationship as if we can not imagine a world with different unbinary system of thinking (at the end even if the no system is a system, so systems will always exist- though in multiple versions).

Deconstruction:

To shake such a system of thought I would suggest the exercise of thinking beyond binarism. It should be very easy it is almost a fun game, so step by step.

To deconstruct the ‘there-is or there-isn’t’ system, that is simply yes/no, 1/0, on/off, lets add the simple element of “yesandno” or half yes half no, or not a full yes and not a full no. Those new elements, using your imagination you can add more, bring into a new understanding of connection between two or more people. So let’s say, I am in love with you but I also do not mind you not being in relation with me at this moment, but at another moment you can be with me. Or what we have is so special to an extent that I am beyond calling it a ‘relation’ but simply love, whether it implies relation or not.

As for the ‘now or never’, again very simple and similar to the first example of deconstruction, where the connection works with no relation to time. Time here is an important element but only as unrelated. So maybe today I want you badly, but tomorrow I might not, and the day after I might, and so on. It does not have to be either we fall in love now or never. It could come later as it could come sooner, as well as it might never come (but even in this case we ca still enjoy sucking clits, screwing nipples, licking backs, crying together over Fayrouz’s song ‘I love you with no hope’-اهواك بلا امل-, biting fingers, emotional manipulation and so on).

As for the ‘nothing or all’, as I already hint before, it implies that either partners have themselves to each other, or there is no relations. The simple answer again to such idea is polyamorous, still there is a kind of ‘relationality’ involved but when combining the other two elements of ontology and time, the idea of constant relation, as in partnership terms, dissolves.

I go for romance without a defined relations. Maybe by saying romance I already implied some sort of relationship, but if that so it should never be close to the ‘normative’ understanding of relations. This is because at the end of the day when you fall deeply in love, nothing else matters except for knowing that the person you love is also in love with you, or content in other relation with someone else. Because real love, as I believe, does not (only) live in terms of the materiality of everyday life, and this thing has nothing to do with age or stage.

Yet, what do I know?
I know I will always choose love.

Absurdity/عبثيه

2006-10-31T20:18:00.000+02:00

أريد أن أقتلكِ

في أشعاري
لكني من المستحيل
...أن أقتلك

لأني لو قتلتُكِ
.لما عدتُ أكتبَ الشعر

I want to kill you
in my poems
but it is impossible
to kill you…
because if I killed you
I won’t anymore
write poetry.

Androgyny

2006-10-29T21:59:00.000+02:00

I am an androgynous. Although I did not know about the existence of such a concept, but I always confused people regarding my gender/sex. On one of my school trips a friend, who had a crush on me then, saw me jumping from one rock to another and asked me “are you a boy or a girl”? I answered him I am “shakar” or (شَكَر). "Shakar" is a word in Arabic that closely refers to someone who has both sexes or genders. Surprisingly enough, some Palestinian friends of mine did not know this word, which makes me think that it might be a very colloquial word that is used in one region or another in Palestine.
I am an androgynous and I “lost” my virginity with my fingers listening on Oum Kolthoum’s (أم كلثوم) song “This is my night” (هذه ليلتي) while imagining myself walking with my lover, from school, and telling her how beautiful she was. She knew that I loved her but she also had a boyfriend then, and still, once we met in my village and I had my first kiss, with her, and she had her fist kiss with a girl. Four years after, when we were students in same university we delivered a militant feminist flyer in the campus titled “Maqas” in Arabic (مقص) or “Scissors” in English, and I declared in it: “I ‘lost’ my virginity listening to Oum Kolthoum’s music”.

I always confused people about my gender/sex, and I enjoyed that a lot, while they expected me to be embarrassed, so some would apologize and others would wonder and ask why I do not look like a girl. Sexual harassments, as awful and terrible as they are, were the most interesting part of my whole performance. Living in Jerusalem is never boring due to the Israeli army presence, add to that the fact that I was confused to be a Palestinian boy by the Israeli army, which made me feel always on the edge of being confused to be a suspicious Palestinian militant, and then find myself being chased by a whole troop.

Army/police Scenario:

My ex-partner, a FTM boyish anti-Zionist partly Moroccan-Jew, and I look like two gay boys, especially at nights. When roaming around the old city of Jerusalem we occasionally get harassed by Israeli soldiers, who apparently saw from far two suspicious Palestinian boys walking happily towards their direction. On one midnight walk, the army shouted on us from far “Hey boys! Come and bring your IDs”. My ex shouted back “What the hell you want! Do not shout at us”! “Come bring your IDs” again one soldier shouted confused, this time from her French accent in Hebrew. We brought our IDs and showed them to the bored soldier, who might be sitting in his militant jeep wondering why the hell he is so unlucky to spend the nights chasing kids or maybe not, and here is some excitement, maybe an argument that will pass his hours of shift. He looked at our IDs with a stupid confused look at his face: here is a Palestinian dyke walking with supposedly an ‘Israeli’ dyke, who just shouted back on them.
Same incident happened when my ex and I were walking, again after midnight, to my ex’s home. We were about to cross the street leading to her home and I saw a police car accelerating towards my direction. I was almost in the middle of the street, and out of fear to be run over by the car, I returned to the one side. Two cars of police stopped violently in front of us. One policewoman and one policeman, both came out of their cars: “Give me your IDs!” using the masculine pronouns in Hebrew. Not knowing what we did this time, we pulled our IDs and showed them. The confusion on their faces was mind blowing. “Where are you going?” the policeman said to my boobs, trying to verify if I have any, although I have and they are not particularly small. “Home!” we answered. “Why you rushed back when you saw us coming”? The policeman asked. “Well, I saw a car coming very fast and I did not want to get run by a car (at that moment, because I did not mind that at a different stage in my life) so out of fear I returned. “Ok! Sorry mam, we were looking for two Palestinian boys who were trying to steal some cars from this neighborhood”.

Sexual harassment scenario:

The old city of Jerusalem gets really busy on Fridays. Many Palestinians come from all over, those who succeed to cross checkpoints or dangerously smuggle themselves to Jerusalem, to pray in Dome of the Rock mosque. The market that leads to the mosque become insanely crowded and the flow of people become very slow. This is the best time for Palestinian boys to send some hands to some asses, vaginas or boobs, and this is also the time where Palestinian girls learn how to resist these harassments. One girl told me once that her pregnant cousin was harassed by a man who told her “I wish I was the one who blew you” (نيال اللي نفخك) , and she answered him (yet another patriarchal comment) “Now I will ask the one who blew me to blow you up!” (هلأ بخلي الي نفخني ينفخك) and that’s was the end of it.
So on one of these crazy Fridays I was in the market and I passed near two boys. One of them was staring at me stripping me with his gazes. His friend, shocked that he is looking at me like that, told him: “what are you doing, don’t you see that he is a guy”. So it could be that his friend was really gay and he lust me as a boy, or that he saw the girl in me and he liked her, but as life is, nothing is unpredictable.

Western Jerusalem, the Jewish side of Jerusalem (occupied by the Zionist in 1948), I was on the bus and a guy, who looked like gay and he did not knew about it, sat near me. He looked at me confused and told me “nice bag”, I said “thanks”. He then asked me “it is girl’s bag, you know”. I said “yes I know”. Some moments passed by, and he still troubled and puzzled, asked: “do you like girls or boys?”. I answered the most boring answer “none of your business”. However, today if I were to be asked same question I would have answered I like "girls who are boys who like boys like they are girls”, paraphrasing Blur’s amazing song Boys & Girls.

Departure

2006-10-28T09:14:00.000+02:00

I cannot not start the first issue but by Rauda Morcus’s poem. Rauda is a Palestinian lesbian living in Palestine. She is one of the most active and out-spoken woman in Aswat, a Palestinian lesbian group- based in Haifa, Palestine. Aswat (أصوات) means voices in Arabic, and it is a courageous group of women, who decided to act on their sexual and political positioning and form a group that deals with all what lesbian Palestinian women go through in a patriarchal society and in an apartheid Zionist state.
The poem speaks about the concepts of departure, displacement, denial of acknowledgment, violence, absence, presence and illegal status, all in the context of Palestinians living inside the so called “state of Israel”.
The poem is one of my favourite since it pictures accurately the reality of many Palestinians who live inside Israel and has to deal with the state paradoxical position towards them as presence-absentee: they exist but they do not exist. In fact since 1948 the “state of Israel’ has not really done much to reconfigure how to deal with the existence of ‘non-Jews’, once we are demographic problem, once we are Falafel, Hummus, Tabouleh, belly-dancing, ‘primitive’ weddings, and others security threat or pregnant women with bombs.
Life under colonization, imperialism or occupation is about ongoing forced “Departures”:

سأرحل مدينة، بيت سقف وسرير

سأرحل أنا مكان أو حتى حياة

مهجرة أنا داخل أرضي وبلادي

سجينة أنا داخل بيتي، أرضي وبلادي

سأرحل مدينة ومكان

لأول مرة في حياتي رحيل

أحد عليك تل-أبيب

بلد شبابي

طفلة، فتاة، امرأة كنت في قرية

عنف وقسوة ما قد يذكره جسدي

فتاة، طالبة، امرأة كنت هنا

مثلية، فلسطينية و ضحية هكذا أذكر

في تل-أبيب

انتحار

مثلية، فلسطينية، شاعرة وعاشقة

مدينة حاضري أنا رحيلتك

مهجرة أنا داخل أرضي وبيتي

غير قانونية أنا في كل مكان

بدون هوية مكان أو حتى قصيدة

Departing a city, a house, a bed, a roof
Departing I am, a place or even a life
Displaced I am inside my country, my land
A prisoner I am inside my home, my country, my land
Departing a city, a place
For the first time in my life, departure
Mourning you Tel-Aviv… the city of my maturation
A child, a girl, a woman I was in a village
Violence, aggression all that my body knew
A girl, a student, a woman I was here
Lesbian, feminist and a victim I remember
In Tel-Aviv suicide
Lesbian, Palestinian, poet and a lover
The city of my presence I am leaving you
I am displaced in my land, and my home
Illegal in every place
Even my identity does not exist
Without “status” or poems

Rauda Morcus
2003-Translated from Arabic

Under Deconstruction!

2006-10-27T19:27:00.000+02:00

So, here I am joining the virtual world by starting my own blog. The information that you see on the right side of the page “About” and “About me” might provoke “too” much “politics”. I do not know how “much” is “too much”, but lets call it explicit obsession with justice, politics, inequality and so on. Although it is very fashionable in the world of today and the modern age of Empire [precisely U.S] to be political, it is also very necessary. Yet, since power, violence or policing, as we were told, exists everywhere and since such aspects rule our lives, we can not but resist. For some people, only by existing they are resisting, like the case of Palestinians in Palestine (which I will elaborate on in the further postings) who suffer constant displacements, lack of nutrition, lack of access to education, health or movement, and endless efforts by the Israeli state to transfer. Others resist by campaigning for a cause in their own countries, like Kefaya in Egypt (for freedom and –real- democracy, for a change) or like RAWA, an Afghani feminist organization resisting multiple oppressions from Taliban, patriarchy to U.S colonization, or lastly Aswat a Palestinian queer women group who fight racism, sexism, and an apartheid state. And others resist individually, electronically (like electronicintifada), through art, or through small scale community or work.
So resistance is inevitable. It might sound as if I am talking mottos or slogans but I hope this blog will be a space where such issues be dealt with deeply and most importantly a space of deconstruction, where "things" are never taken for granted.
But since I am obsessed with poetry, precisely romantic Arabic poetry [Ghazal], let me start by a poem I wrote that reveals my inner -if you mind- illusionary poet. The poem was originally written in English refereing to the Apartheid wall that is being built in Israel since 2003:

Memories of the Wall
5 September 2005

Memories of smells scattered in my body
Remind me of how once
I used to walk near a wall.
The wall was high cutting
Myself from myself.
Cutting myself from my other.

Memories of scenes fragmented in me
Of how the wall was built
You were telling me to look
And I was engaged in fighting
Nothingness in a political geography

You told me that the great wall
Is that inside me, is inside you
But me, I was demonstrating
Screaming, throwing myself
As a stone of anger on the wall
All myself to that monstrous wall.

Memories of voices echo inside me
Violently of the crash of that
Stone hitting the earth helplessly
Tearing my virginity to small
Pieces of black blood on the wall.

I lost myself
When the wall was erected,
Leaving me with memories of
How heavenly it used to be before.