Maybeeee...

Maybe I was a slow woman
Carrying the country on my back
Walking barefoot
Except for some scars covering my ankles
Maybe I was a woman made of silk
Who didn’t get the chance to break the cocoon
So she disappeared into the tunnel of peace
I didn’t make silk
So the straw pierced my lungs
To stammer in pronouncing the name of God
And maybe I was a serious woman
Standing firmly
Wearing glasses despite my sharp vision
Trimming crocodile skins
And sewing time with a rusty needle
Deaf to the sound of crying
I don’t care about the images of naked children
Nor even the mothers...?!
What matters to me is only my pillow which has become a sea
And my boat-shaped heart with a hole
Maybe I was a woman of waiting
Drawing dreams according to longing
Shortening distances
Spreading chaos in the corridors of memory
And glorifying silence in the cells of forgetting
Maybe I was a woman of clouds
Waiting for the warmth of my beloved’s eyes
For rain on the shores of his heart
And embracing the boiling of his thoughts
Erasing his doubts and his deadly jealousy
So I gift him a necklace and some other necklaces
And applaud the kiss of temptation
When, with all recklessness, it burns with passion
But I have certainly become a woman
Of dust scattered by winds in all directions of confusion
To accumulate on the covers of time
Corroding like a corpse...
So the soil can write me a number like all the living in my country...