Читать книгу Iraqi Refugees in the United States - Ken R. Crane - Страница 6

Astonishingly, I was born

With a passionate tendency for kissing the sky

In the mirrors of lakes;

An obstructive heart for nostalgia;

An ironic sense of the sanity of penitents.

In the depth of my soul there is a vaporous window

Of oblivion to patience that awaits

The arrival of turtle’s death.

In my savage determination

I feel a lust to thrash the weakness

Of these cowards which they call “postponement.”

In this beautiful hell where flitting is my way of life

Every night (oh, life!)

In my imagination

With a sense full of sleepy lightning

I draw the sketch of your abstract face

on the pale and shadowy wall of my grave room

By the smoke of my only cigarette.

The nausea of normality

Embodies a madness inside me

Which I cannot recognize.

—Sassan, “Emptiness’s Decaffeinated Sense”