Before Coming Back
'My hand got tired in your grip' –
by Lela Samniashvili
My thought is sounding like a sudden betrayal, like:
'I can't lock up myself in my homeland'.
If I was a Philippine girl, I would prey while going to sleep
For a volcano nearby my village to wake up
So that I could dance in my own ashes,
If I was an Iranian girl, I would stop in the middle
Of a crowded street, take off my scarf from head
And wrap my eyes with it.
Like a suitcase bursting in the middle of a station,
With clothes and books falling out all around,
I should stuff this instant of my present, lock it back;
I should remember that I am standing somewhere –
In the middle of a gallery,
A huge still-life is looking at me,
Taking nearly each fruit out of me;
I should remember, that I can still come back,
That you can still come back;
I should get my hand back to life in your hand.