May 30, 2012

Why I am better

I wait alone at the bus station.
The bus that drives slower than a snail, is late.
It's raining and as usual in the post-communist town
the ghosts of gray and dullness rise.
I see fissures filled with filthy water,
the mud in streets and people's clothes,
dripping walls.
Someone runs a meatball shop, where I cannot see
but I can smell, the odious odor.
nothing in comparison to what awaits me inside the bus.
I've been here before.
The stench of a delightful blend, of the unwashed bus,
maybe since last year, maybe two years ago,
of unwashed people,
with their unwashed clothes, and stink of feet,
halitosis, peat
of booze and cheap cologne,
the smell of "paçe" that they eat.
The stench of the Albanian bus, is the stench that welcomes you to hell.
And here I wait for that
and I observe the people all around.
Four boys, cramped in a car, one older in the driving seat,
smug faces, look at me with who knows what filthy images in their heads.
I wince, I flinch, I cringe.
An old man, probably not older than forty, looking fifty, with a crooked face,
skeletal bone structure, stares, is he trying to hit on me, perverted town....
An old woman wearing a white napkin in her head as the old customs say
black clothes, carrying ragged bags,
mutters something in her weird dialect.
A girl wearing jeans so tight, and a bra so tight,
did she ever look at herself in the mirror before going out?
She will probably talk on the phone for the whole ride                                                                                          
She will talk about how this guy and that guy, and that awful boring life.
I look around and ask, what am I doing here?
if life is just a moment in the now
I'm nothing better than all the people here.
If I am here, I am the place where I am
But that's not true, life is later and back then.
I'm all the people that I was
And all the people I will be.
I have better schooling
better style of life
I went abroad several times
I eat better, I dress better
I have more money
I deal with more important people
In this endless wait for the slowest bus on earth
In this Becketian wait
where the now, seems to be eternal
I say I am here, but here I don't belong
In this bus station where my choices brought me
In this station where chance threw me
I know I am better than everyone around
I am better than those snotty boys
who are called inadequate by their teachers in school
because of their background, because of their family
they are told from earlier times what is their destiny
that in life they will never amount to anything
I am better than them.
because I was told I can be whatever I want to be
by my teacher and my parents and everyone else
I am better than that crooked face man
who rarely sees meat
works all day a job physically straining
psychologically exhausting
and gets paid enough to drink his troubles
I am better than his wife or even daughter who works as a waitress
she flirts with monkeys all day long for a ten lek tip
I am better than that crippled man
with a distorted body,
who will never be touched by a woman willingly
I am better than that old lady
who was married 14 years old without her knowing
and for heroism of her country had 14 kids brought to a life of misery
I am better than those people in the bus
who never learned better but to shower in a week once

I am better as I went to school with a nice white lace dress for the photo day.
And my mother who worked all day long
found time to make me repeat my homework till when it was well done.
I am better as my university was American with American professors
and American books, and American "chase your dreams motto" in life.
I am better because my parents worked 16 hours a day to give me a three story house.
And I grew up in a princess room of pink and green
I am better because my school gave me a great job
I get paid well enough to travel and dine and wine in expensive places.

Now that I am waiting in the station of filth and stench
i was brought here by some weird chance
but I don't have the same fate
for if I call my dad, a friend, a cab
I wouldn't have to stay and wait

I am better than everyone here in the bus
this gray that kills me I don't want to see
for it does not belong to me
I am so much better with my love, and fate and luck
so I am better than everyone else,
in this filthy stinky bus,
of absolute determinant chance. 

May 26, 2012

My owner has a cat

My owner has a little habit
to feed me as he pleases
he sends me places
and rarely doesn't show
when I walk in town
he wonders where I go

My owner loves to rant
brag, and boast, and bluster,
he flutters in his chant
he is the town's rooster

what happened in his day
his life, work and troubles
he talks about it all
but all he wants is cuddles

I have this old owner
I'm his little cat
I like it when I'm sheltered
warmed and well fed
I purr, stretch my paws
I sleep in his bed

I like it when he pets me
he strokes me and he nuzzles
i like it when he nestles
fondles me and snuggles

I like it when he comes
close, closer to me
but what I do like more
is when I get to flee
And wonder if he wonders
wherever I might be

My owner has a little
snotty bratty cat
sometimes she likes to wonder
if he wonders where she's at

May 24, 2012

Parallel Lines

...But love is an illusion
Trespass it cannot
From one parallel universe
to the other

Can two parallel lines ever meet?
And if they meet stay
Embraced, fixed
in an eternal moment?

Life moves in circles
And there in the black nothingness
Where ideas and concepts can’t sprout
There in the barren woods of time and space
pain of silent hellos echoes through eternity
as circular objects move in circular ways
and miss each other passing by
in eternal loneliness 

For two parallel lines cannot meet
They only run towards an end without an end
And miss each other as they move
Like two opposite trains in a subway station