Two young boys play games, they run in circles, race and freeze. Rabbits leap over the hedge as shades of illusion extend before us. Ring! Ring! How long have I been asleep? Blur followed by focus … Who is that man in black? Why is my life on replay?
What an old lady from hell! She is picking up pieces of earth like she’s picking up flowers and she is scooping out crumbled street like she would scoop vanilla ice cream! She is running after me … Picking, throwing, scooping and throwing …
AAAh! The gravity is trying to squish my spine! I must fight back … I will look up to the sky to hold my head high with all the power I have left …
Wait, what is that heavy weight burdening my shoulders? That weight took a form of a green old skinny man who is clutching on my back and piercing my skin with his long dirty nails. If I give in she will win and if I kept my pride I will break.
Lemons are rolling towards me … What would I do with lemons? “Make lemonade.” she said as she laughed in mockery. Home is where I want to be; where I can cry alone. “Turn me into a bird!” At last! I am free to fly back to my golden cage.
Through all of these tables, I sat on that one. This chair is the oldest, so it is the wisest. Dear chair, I wonder how many stories have you carried? How much have you suffered and endured to get these wounds on that torn skin of yours? I love the wrinkles on your face, it complements your grey hair. Oh here comes the Asian waiter who greets me with a smile that never gets old. Oh, the way that six-fingered virtuoso showers my cake with chocolate exhilarates me.
What I love about cafes is that the people change everyday but it’s almost the same. That leaning tower of Pisa is all over his lady whom he loves deeply and as she sips the goodness of life he recites poetry to the beauty of her eyes. The old man secludes himself in the corner and has a glass of warm milk. The vulgar man who mistreats my friend is always here in different vessels. The boys who come in with rolling eyes examine the place as if it were a crime scene.
What if I opened my third eye? Would I see their real stories? Their secrets perhaps? Is there a murderer? A thief? If only it were true … I bit most of them are calculus teachers. What is that on the front page? A new bomb has exploded on the east side? Rich, please bring me today’s newspaper … Never mind I’ll get it myself. I pulled out the rolled one thirsty for fresh news and before I knew it a gun fell on the ground with a bang that scattered them like cockroaches. My favourite cafe is now closed for investigation.
Words are sculptured from stones and emotions are expressed from roses, yet the meaning is lost in the falling rivers of hell. How can I tell the long night about my nothings? Shall I sing and be heard through the broken lock? What a rusty voice … I have been silenced for a long time by the scratches in the walls.
The crying child inside my eyes, whose wrists are suffocating from chains, can be heard and so is the old broken lady who is melting in the boiling blood in vain. My hollow soul splashes in grey and as it rains sorrows I choose to feel nothing. How can I write about nightmares that begin with a creak?
How can I tell stories about the evil eye watching me through that keyhole like a circus freak? Dark smoke flows in the pupils of my eyes staring back at me in that mirror which draws me into my fading self. Pain peaks, pain smoothly slips on his toes through the cracks like a diamond thief. My demons are playing music in the ruins and it’s keeping me tamed as heat escapes along with those frozen emotions whom I blame.
I hear crashes waking up the sleep and I see flying ashes making screaming faces at me. The numbers are escaping the clock running away towards infinity and the shadows whom I used to hunt are haunting me. The sky made firestorms of insanity which are ripping my house up and breaking it down. I stood alone and wept until the Phoenix emerged and gave perfervid love to my beginning.