another quarantine story

It was under drops of warm water where I realised,
I am half fiction, half truth.

That I am embodied
made of bones and muscles
a heart and a brain
and loads and loads of nerves, holding me in one.

But also, partly so untouchable, so invisible
and mysterious to my own self.
do you know that part of you?

We are embodied stories.
we are a mix of moving organs and layers of imagination.

Our stories need a narrative
a character and perhaps more characters
our stories need an audience
a playground.
and like every story
constant transformations.
without which there is no life.


Here you can go outside.
you can go outside, walk alone.

But every time, on the walk back home you realise
It is not much about the “outside”.

It is not about the fresh air.
fresh air finds its way through your windows anyway…

It is the “the presence”,
the presence of those who you laughed with,
those you shared a meal with.

About the stories we made, the stories we can make.
It was more about the times we united, we danced.

It was knowing that even if you do not have the sea beside you,
you can always fly to it.

It was never much about “outside”.

And now, if you stop dreaming of life getting back to “normal”
at least for a moment,
if you stop contemplating what you can not have now,
only for some moment,

If you do a pause,
you realise
all that matters, is still there,
perhaps not always and not for everyone, but for most of the times and for most of  us.
You realise nothing is really in lack of anything.

You recognise the chance of sharing with your loved ones,
a family you share stories with, sweet ones and bitter ones
a friend close to your heart,
maybe a lover  you wake up to,
or even any other human being with whom you share a street.
you still feel them, hear them
and you still get mad at them…

This is not really a quarantine,
what our minds live sometimes at “normal life times”
is much more of a quarantine.

How tight we hold our hearts,
against life and the core of it,
is way tighter than a quarantine.

Here you can go outside,
you can go outside, walk alone.
but it is not about where you walk,
It is not about the “outside”.


I wish

in the middle of all this chaos and judgements

we finally observe our contradiction.

The little pieces of conflict and aggression

settling right inside of us.

Soleimani was killed

Most of men and women in power

look dead to me

they terrorize, they murder each other


but before all, they have died long time ago.

As the folks, as individuals

we have got to be very conscious about our admirations of personas as a whole.

It is the sword carrying years and years of dedication, art and every hardship we admire

which can at the end, take lives…

still in the hole

Maybe the answer

is whatever you want it to be

Maybe we just need to be more comfortable with not knowing

How hard it is to have that freedom…

Before death

Before owning anything

I want to own my life




Before death

I want to create a life

on bravery


Often we feel like actors

who don’t like their roles.

but we keep on acting

as if things are written for us

by an author

who oversees things.


The way I write

the way I dance

it shows how I have not seen enough

I have not read enough