“When people say, ‘She’s got everything’, I’ve got one answer – I haven’t had tomorrow.”

— Elizabeth Taylor (Feb. 27, 1932 – March 23, 2011)

(Image by Andy Warhol)

1390’s res·o·lu·tion = kill them with (more) kindness.

Happy Norouz lovers.

S

(Artwork by Francisca Pageo)

“Life is perhaps lighting up a cigarette

in the narcotic repose between two love-makings

or the absent gaze of a passerby

who takes off his hat to another passerby

with a meaningless smile and a good morning.”

— Forough Farrokhzad

(From her poem: “Another Birth”)

I dreamt of the newborn leaves

in an impeccable race with

the birds on strike and

the broken ladder

on cold concrete;

with the dusty air

filled with

nostalgia.

Counting down

in fast forward;

three,

skipping the two,

and

one

…

I deify the moment

in slow motion,

cherish the Spring,

and honour our beloved

Norouz.

S

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?”

— Mary Oliver

The smell of the perfume is dancing

in the air; proudly, tenderly.

The wet sky washes the stormy brain,

enduring the sweet sorrows; bare and boundless.

Today, the world is at last hers.

She admires the raindrops.

Watching them hitting one by one,

melting down the dirty snow

just like the summer heat dissolving

a blueberry sorbet scoop in the antique land.

The steamy window is nothing less

than an old treasure map, guiding her to

the moment of truth; to nostalgia.

Breaking the steam, she writes down

her thoughts: “I shall move yet again.”

S

“The weak are more likely to make the strong weak than the strong are likely to make the weak strong.”

— Marlene Dietrich

(Illustration By Alexey Kurbatov)

(Artwork by Francisca Pageo)

The world, lately, has been black and white;

with a touch of transparency,

in the shape of nude wings,

filled up with empty carafes.

Today, she chose to hide,

while he picked foolishness

over the childhood fairytale, over purity.

She, in reverse, cherished the Parisian sky

and the wrinkles as she smiled.

The true moment came their way eagerly, merrily.

Flooded into their ghostly robes;

into their lonely dawns.

The words failed her this morning,

left her existence unnoticed,

and suddenly she felt the fragrant

coolness of being hidden.

What bliss.

S

The smoke curls up high

above her, fading out in the cold.

Her virgin little heart is still;

and the cruel poison beats

horizontally, vertically.

She chews on the blue candies;

swallows the strike of the words;

drinks up the bruised thoughts

and the whole river;

behind her flesh, behind her blood.

And me, I’m simply there,

switching between Chinese blues

and lovers in Japan –

desire pulls through me

and I search for ways to express.

S