The hour of conception at night
Coughs are bloody purulent
The hands of the clock are spinning

The instruments play and play
The notes split and die
People walk and are silent
.
It seems that the roles of action cinema are fixed
The positives are stuck and the negative feeling of denial
They are working...they think they are living
Maybe they are happy to live

At work, they think about sex in the middle of the night and in the middle of the night.. They are all smart
They touch each other's neck for seconds
They have a better group

Living and dying go head to head
They don't get enough, they get pregnant again, even when they die
The seconds tick by... they start singing

It's as if they don't have the patience to repeat duplicates anymore
They are no longer repeated...they become new...with each repetition becoming old

Now the moments are easier... there is no need to count for repetition
Time is no longer greedy... It seems as if life has been completed

They put their heads on the pillow for a few seconds
Sleeping comfortably is like dying
Time is distracted from being
Satisfying being and not being

Varaj's mind is no longer aware
The seconds are not repeated as if they are silent
The time... to put you to sleep... it seems like seconds
They are all fed up with all these repetitions

So where are those frequent rains?
Letters and words
It's like suffocating in your mind
All quiet and unrepeatable
They are just playing their roles

Everyone is imprisoned
The screams seem to be empty
They don't care about being and not being anymore
The straws on the lips and the looks are fixed
Sew their eyes
All of them are really quiet
Tiredness is not tired anymore

Feelings too.. becoming numb and
Getting comfortable next to the bed and sleeping

Their names are smiles
I have to go... the fog is heavy and I can't see anything
It's over, I'm out...drink, it's me

Am I really alive or are they dying?


© Hossein Keshavarz Amandi

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