In the Garden


Breeze had woke up, moved out of his bed and went out to the garden to get some Chamomiles to treat his ever non opening eyes; mostly the right.

On his way out he smelled an old scent.

He brushed off the smell and the idea behind it.

A furry subject started rubbing herself against his legs and then loudly announced; “Breeze: this is Demoozi... He is back’

Breeze stood still. Tried to open his eyes, but the threads of pus prevented him of doing so. He ordered Limpy to keep limping away and went for his Chamomiles.

Those Chamomiles were special in a way; he did not have to wet them or boil them, he only needed to put them on his eyes every morning, and his ophthalmia would be cured for that day.

Those Chamomiles would die by sunset, only to revive the next day.

He only had to sing for them before sunset to make sure they return the next day.

Sometimes, he felt he did not want to do it, but Limpy made sure to nag upon him to sing. She and the Chamomiles enjoy his singing.

So, off he went to cleanse his eyes.

And then he saw Demoozi.

His eyes filled up with tears, instead of pus.

Demoozi tried to touch him, his neck, his eyes.

He moved away, stepped on the Chamomiles, returned to his garden room, and locked the door.


Mother gracious

Limpy banged in into Nao’s dormitory

“Oh my my my, Demoozi had left his tree trunk, and only him knows whats going to happen….even Fourthdimention is not aware”

“Would you please close the door, the breeze is breezy”

” You are such a lazy old cat, Wake up”


“Told you… I Just love Demoozi”

“Yes, OK.” going back into his slumber.

” Where was that last piece of salmon you promised to keep for me?”


“Oh my God, you had left me only the bone leftover?! you are such a pig. No wonder I leave you here to rot. I’ll eat it anyways and go see my beloved Demoozi. Go back to your slumber. I love you anyway”

She took out the salmon remnants, and left the door open; thinking, with a half smile,  let the bastard freeze.




I am your grandma; therefore I think you had matured enough for me to talk some sense into you,

Raheema listened;

Fourthdimention did not choose me.

I did not choose this person that I live with, but she pampers my knees.

I did not choose your father, he was given to me.

Hulm did not choose his bastard father; he was obliged to have him.

You did not choose your body, but you do have It.; no choice there.

Tigris chose to escape, and, that was wise.

The desert did not choose to be brown,

The Mediterranean did not choose to be blue.

The titanic did not choose to sink,

America did not choose to be found.

Yet, we are convinced to believe that we choose,

Choose what, mother, father, life, God, brothers, sisters, what… ? It has all been dictated,

Almighty Faro did not choose to sink.

John the Baptist did not choose to be beheaded.

Neither Herod nor Salome comprehended what was happening; Heroda did, the big loving mother,

Then we are doomed because we choose.


Raheema, listen to your grandma, and don’t bother, but take care of Breeze.

It is just not worth it.

I’ll give you a kiss Raheema” choose to take it. 




The, red hands, of Lady Macbeth, are her’s.

He did not want his hands to be red, but his beloved “Ma-damme” insisted.

He did not want to be the foreseen of the three witches; his wife insisted he would.

He was a heart that could’ve been manipulated; Lady Macbeth did that with excellence,

Demoozi returned to his sunlight.

Breeze had slipped back into this bed sheets

The cats kept roaming, surviving,

Limpy, looked at all, at the serenity, and limped away.

Tigris, somehow, saw all of that; her eyes had a spot of a tear, but, but… continued what she doing.





Or should I say the search for Breeze.





Or, is it? Intimacy…Belonging.

Words and letters that we try fill our hearts with.

We know that the heart is only a pump. But that does not really explain why we feel the hollowness, there; right there; at the left end of the sternum where the heart is.

There should be wisdom behind it;

Liver, I can understand.

Someone ate the liver of their enemy thinking that was the site of the soul.

None ate the heart.

Faro’s mummies retained their hearts.

The Twareg protected their throats.

Soldiers protect their lungs.

Medieval west European kings protected their penis.

Nordics their ears.

I protect none.

Breeze thinks that I am a selfish lump of flesh.

I respect him enough to let him think so.

And, I will continue to make him think that I am a lump.

I am yearning to go back to the Sun.

But I shall wait.

Just for him, and them



The Morning after 

Breeze woke up, the morning after.

Right as the pink, orange, red, sunray had pampered his left eyelid.

Every piece of his body musculature was aching.

The smell of Salmon -The one[s] he had tried to bring along from the sea- was all over the place-.

Someone had placed a plate full of Onions, Rocca, and Jade next to his bed.

Of course, those where stylishly covered by a handkerchief; initialed N.; or was it an R.

He could not tell.

A big lumpy mass of brown flesh was lying on the floor next to his mattress.

Not exactly next, but, one foot-level, below.

Was it a jackal or…? “Oh my God” it was Demoozi, or his remnants?

Breeze loved Demoozi, he was his childhood friend, felt protected when he was around.

But last night reading Gilgamesh was far more important.

Only Nao and Raheema knew better.

Those entities that he had thought were taken for granted; were the only ones to consider!

Breeze stayed on his the bed.

Was it, mid morning, afternoon, evening, or whenever; who care’s?

Times and places do not change emotions.

“If I am not between your Deltoids, Pectorals or your small hand muscles, I do not, then, give a damn for any other detail.”

“I loved you, we all in the city love you, and continue to do so. Even a little more, more than what you can withstand, more than what you could think, or have thought.”

“If you do not comprehend how much love we have lacked previously, and predicted we might continue to lack, then it could have been the problem that I had not explained myself clearly. Meanwhile, all, those emotions, we had tried to place right into your Jugulars, failed to reach your cortex.”

But your neck, for you, was too precious to yield to us.

“I want to write more but I just can’t.”

The shock had overwhelmed me.



Pink, Orange and Red


It turned out to be gray, blackish asphalt grey, rather, absurdly grey.

I thought righteousness should and would always prevail.

I was called selfish, I reacted violently, but deep inside I thought I might have been.

I was treated, or rather abused, “love”less’ly; and I was made to believe, or rather manipulated to believe that was my fault.

I am glad I was able to see through the broken tainted glass.

But, I am sad.