Flies taste his left eye. His right eye is a fruit fallen on the lawn. I loved him alive, and when he died while climbing a tree, I loved him more.
He was crying in silence and thinking of my open and sad pussy like a cave. The uncle told him that my tongue is more fragile than a baby pigeon, and I breathe hot like an oven even when he keeps me shirtless. A rabbit painted on his stomach. I didn't like rooftops where young girls sleep thinking of Suhail Star under wide blue eye. The people call God "Father of blue tent."
My fragile tongue, under a wide blue eye, slipped with all my childhood; O Lord!
Yellow teeth eating piece of soft and curved meat" like premature almonds"
More? He asks and rubs his head between my legs
Not more uncle.
Didn't I tell you once: ‘O brother, how I hate Friday night and Fajr Azan (dawn call to prayer)!’
As we advanced a little bit in age, you caught my arm, turned my face and asked; ‘Are you a virgin or not?’
My blood wasn't polluted my wedding night. When I was asked about the secret of my tigressness in bed and of my writing, I replied lewdly: ‘Honey, the world is not a gentleman.’
I am very shy, but no one believes.
I place tissues on my blood-stained dress.
Oh… where does this blood come from?
It's the time of my period and I felt embarrassed to buy sanitary napkins from the shop.
- Curse your mother for this
- Only your mother.
Oh God, how beautiful are your honey eyes, the beloved, stark and furious eyes.
An eye tasted by flies and the other fallen on the lawn
I'm still what you brought me up on every 20th of month. I come in the shop; I buy chips, Pepsi, and one pack of Marlboro if I didn’t find Gauloises. And within all these I insert a small blue box of napkins which, some voice gimmickly puts in an advertising tone; "it gives me confidence".
I buy chewing gum with remaining Qirshes. I chew it to pollute the trees, houses, and bus seats, and I spit on the sidewalks. I collect grasshoppers and burn in a revengeful stupor. When uncle shouted: who has taken sulfur son of bitch? I look at the life from the window and inhale the euphoria of victory.
Do you remember the clang of spoons in cups of heavy tea that looked rather like stored blood? We were scooping sugar as if we were digging in the mountain, as if small spoonfuls are shovels for our small palms. And our small voices croon the song of "Island of Treasure"
"Fifteen men died for the box."
I became thirty. I committed adultery with fifteen men in one year and no one opened the box. No one died except me.
You certainly did not die; you are there with the family of the needy that we were once. You have forgotten to grow up with me. Yesterday, I dreamed that we all in a great cemetery like movie’s graves. Two mothers wash our clothes and we are playing with soap foam. And my laughter reaches to God.
I only laugh in dreams, in particular, with you. I do not care what my coworkers say about my melancholia. My melancholia is our dozing laugher like a rose hanged in my shirt.
What has made your blood heavy?!
Why are you hanging on an elderly tree? What do you do over the mint basin, which I love? I sit staring over to the top to with open mouth like your mouth. I look at your blue face under a narrow horizon, under the eye of "The Father of blue tent".
Not fair that you are hanged. You are tasted by flies, and the dead love you as a son.
Whereas I'm a scarecrow for my life, no one is able to love me.
My brother, my half-brother
I will answer your old question now: Yes, I'm a virgin.
Once a forty- something woman said to an eighteen-year-old girl: ‘What does your life mean if your heart is broken before twenty'!
Where is that woman now, I will show her a hundred broken hearts under my heart