nia zakaria

Poem no’ 1. Was written on the 11.09

While sitting in front of my TV screen
Watching the evening news, I see
you wave a cloth out of the window
From the hundred and first floor
Crying for help

While strolling along the path behind my home
Looking out at the horizon, I see
you wave a cloth out of the window
From the hundred and first floor
Crying for help

While pushing the trolley around the store
Doing my holiday shopping, I see
you wave a cloth out of the window
From the hundred and first floor
Crying for help

While calling my friends and family
To wish them a good New Year, I see
you wave a cloth out of the window
From the hundred and first floor
Crying for help

When I hug my children close to me
As close and tight as possible, I see
you wave a cloth out of the window
From the hundred and first floor
Crying for help

And when I lay down and close my eyes
To sleep, I see
you wave a cloth out of the window
From the hundred and first floor
And I
cry for help

Poem no’ 2.

Joy gives me open horizons
A distant point.
Illusions build the horizon
The possibility of getting there.
Loss of illusion
Erases the horizon
And doors open
To know infinity
Nothing
And the end.

Loss of illusion
Erasing the horizon
Joy
Period!

Poem 3.

My time is short
and there is so much to do
and I’m not the one to finish this work.
I cover myself up with soft sand
one grain,
then another
sand sticks to my eyes,
sand in my face,
in my ears
grains stick to my body
arranging themselves in waves,
waves
I’m sinking into changing episodes
grains of sand,
then others,
tiny,
innocent
penetrating,
wounding
scattering and arranging themselves
row upon row.
Sinking into my dream
I’m not the one to finish this work,
but there is so much to do
and the time is short
and the worms already eat at the flesh
of the one who has to do the work.
And the time is short.
I sink into my dream,
one wave,
then another
feel the time
one grain,
then another
mounting up
forcing me to sink into the depth
everything is motionless there.
And the work?
Is not for me,
not for me
yet there is so much to do.
And the time?
Yes, time,
The Time,
traps me into
infinite time.