I observed the bees
Sitting in the hive
Not caring about the stings.
The honey was not the goal.
The death party was too great for the crowd to age.
Yesterday I almost died.
I lost a lady who was spelling my name.
And now I’m spelling another woman who
spells her lover’s name.
She sits in the hive
Inspired by the bites
And happily
She whispers in my ear:
“Thank you for the way you loved me.”
The knife is ready.
There’s cheese and bread
There are fresh vegetables.
All it takes is a little travelling.
It doesn’t hurt to change our habits.
This time I set up the kitchen in a simple way
In the corner I put a small fridge.
We might have to eat our usual meal later.
I also prepared plates – sorry, two plates.
We can spare one of them.
So we only have one plate
I made sure to put it in the window slot.
This time we will fly to a new space.
Where there’s no junk without function.
Just... a gentle nudge.
The universe will not be disrupted if we push the net.
A window that has lost its function
also wants to get it back.
The sky is so close.
The cloud is an ancient tree with a pair of doves praying on its branches after the nightingale has entered the “crack of the moon.”
The universe is sad.
God, as the last power, is the refuge of a lover who has exhausted his trials.
The womb is a tear.
At that moment, I came out of my eyes.
The story says:
Before I left, I saw a father; in his hands was a child who resembled a pane of glass that had fallen from the last floor
The rock was standing on the ground
The earth is a sphere that rotates upon itself.
Every murderer who kills his murderer, then chops him up with an axe.
He puts two pieces on each road, one for the land and one for the sea.
I have only one son and two axes in two hands. I was almost frightened; (I saw that a child holding a mirror approached me and said, ”Look in this mirror.” As soon as I looked, I screamed and my heart was pounding.)
At that moment I laughed.
The story says: There was no land, no son, no father.
Just... an eye
looking at a body
like a tear
as it falls in a final farewell.
- Parentheses are from “The Child Holding the Mirror” by Friedrich Nietzsche (Thus Spoke Zarathustra) – (adapted)
Ahmed El Merekhy is a poet and journalist from Aswan, Egypt.
