A mountain of oppressed thoughts balances its heavy weight on the chest of the day. Somewhere I still can see the head rising on a spit, being eaten by eagles, crows and some paradise birds.
He was the last to come out of the homeland prison, knowing that he won’t see the day light of tomorrow, gave his clothes to the first beggar on the way to the summit, away they went nailing the body to the tree, chanting for the God to throw his wrath on the only dying soul.
When the head was raised on the stick, a cry was heard coming from the wide sky, three days was all he got to tell the story, three nights he was offered to repent his godly sins, and on he went, climbed the tree and embraced the branches.
His only friend in prison was given a sward and a dagger, gold chains to shackle his comrades, the smell of betrayal and ugly love, a dream of grapes being pressed under the feet of virgins, a basket full of bread and some weeds. Along came he, demanding to be freed from his tower, to be given the grains and the slaves of the land, but the damned soul shouted, why me?! No answer was heard, so not to taint the word of earthly father with lies and false prophets.
Away with the head, hands, feet and the tool of lust, away with the dreams, hopes, joys and the last kiss, away with all the stories..
I embrace this tree and your ugly love…
