When I tire from too much parting
I visit the cemetery
anyway
the tombstones here
are decorated with crosses
and French words I don’t understand
only the numbers
I know how to read
his birth date
the day of vanishing
Many flowers
blush as they bloom
like a virgin girl
on her wedding night
or like Samhat
Enkidu’s beloved
when she first saw her nakedness
after his embrace
When I tire from too much parting
I visit the cemetery
stand by a nameless grave
dive into my stories as if it knows me
I say to it: “I didn’t die
but I’m here to resemble you more”
The wind passes
through the shade of trees
I put my hand on my heart
not to feel the stones
but to knock on it
I wait for a moment
certain no one will open for me
They were here running once
but everyone died
all of them died
and I hold their markers with my hands
I return alone
dragging myself
as if forgetting something
and not wanting itBehind me, heavy silence
in front of me, a city
without memory
I ask myself:
was I visiting them?
or searching for my own grave
that has yet to be written?
