The immigrant


There’s nobody here. Only the silence. The wind cuts its path through the broken curtains, through the cracked windows, through the ruined walls and sings its autumnal song.
Do not come back, you have no reasons to come back here, nomad man, stop calling this place home.
I told my son: I am the daughter of the sunset since I know myself.
Any land from the sunset is my country.
My parents are the waters of this lake and the shadows of this mountain, from the end of the eastern world.

It’s not true that I was born into a ghetto from an obscure urban legend wherein all the characters are anti-heroes.
It’s not any truer than the fact that I’ve always lived on the grounds of desire
Only somewhere in the west and only in the twilight.

My freedom was closing my eyes.

Do not turn back, nomad man,
This is the rule of the game if you want to be young forever
Throw your memories to the dogs, give them for free, burry them, cast them away,
They’re just ghosts and ashes
Stop looking back, for God’s sake.

Understand it: there is no place to return
This country is a desert ground, a devastated village where starving eagles ate everything
Including the stones.


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