Roberta. 23. Italian. Self proclaimed poet. Trekking maniac. Dreamer. Procrastinator. Reader. Writer. Silence lover. Photobomber. Professional confetti thrower. Cat fancier. Moody. Me.
La sensazione che provo ogni volta che vado a camminare in montagna è difficile da spiegare: è come se tornassi a casa.
E mi stupisco ogni volta di quanta determinazione metta ogni volta che c’è da fare qualcosa di incredibilmente stupido.
They call us now.
Before they drop the bombs.
The phone rings
and someone who knows my first name
calls and says in perfect Arabic
“This is David.”
And in my stupor of sonic booms and glass shattering symphonies
still smashing around in my head
I think “Do I know any Davids in Gaza?”
They call us now to say
You have 58 seconds from the end of this message.
Your house is next.
They think of it as some kind of war time courtesy.
It doesn’t matter that
there is nowhere to run to.
It means nothing that the borders are closed
and your papers are worthless
and mark you only for a life sentence
in this prison by the sea
and the alleyways are narrow
and there are more human lives
packed one against the other
more than any other place on earth
We aren’t trying to kill you.
It doesn’t matter that
you can’t call us back to tell us
the people we claim to want aren’t in your house
that there’s no one here
except you and your children
who were cheering for Argentina
sharing the last loaf of bread for this week
counting candles left in case the power goes out.
It doesn’t matter that you have children.
You live in the wrong place
and now is your chance to run
It doesn’t matter
that 58 seconds isn’t long enough
to find your wedding album
or your son’s favorite blanket
or your daughter’s almost completed college application
or your shoes
or to gather everyone in the house.
It doesn’t matter what you had planned.
It doesn’t matter who you are
Prove you’re human.
Prove you stand on two legs.
Running Orders by Lena Khalaf Tuffaha
- Ortopedico: Felice, fammi un Johnson!
- Felice: *inizia il bendaggio*
- Ortopedico: *uscendo* Ho finito la visitazio, ora vado a fare un bel tunnel del carpazio!
- Io: *da codice verde divento codice rosso* Ossigenooo!
Turmoil inside and outside.
Turmoil that doesn’t belong to me
Nor to this earth
Yet I feel it on my tongue.
What is love?
A lie? A lapsus? Or a trick?
Thanks for asking
Thanks for pushing me on the wall
Thanks for slapping me
For I am a sinner
For I laughed on a lover’s face
Mocking his grace
But not his kindness.
Bravery is trust
Courage is letting go.
I slipped on a nightmare
To wake up in a dream
Where darkness felt comfortable
In my presence
And ants could collect the words
Stolen from my abandoned soul
And bring them where the deepest roots hold the earthquake’s hands.
So that I could finally breathe.
Inside and outside.
- Boss: Domani sera puoi staccare alle 10, così se vuoi fare programmi per la serata sei libera!
- Io: *chiamo tutti e faccio programmi*
- La città intera: *decide di trasferirsi in massa nel bar*
- Io: *torno a casa alle 2 controllando il telefono con 49 messaggi e 8 chiamate perse*
I am that kind of lazy person that uses COPY-PASTE when I have to write the same word two times.
Please spread the word.
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