A Feast for Sharks: A 7-day Diary of an Illegal Immigrant
Day one. By the end of a bleak wrathful day,
found the targeted house—
a shelter away from the eyes of cops.
Day two. Met varieties of aliens. Built a small fire.
Made green tea with mint.
Day three. Fought over a loaf of bread. Peace came again.
Started looking at the sky through a little window.
Day four. Constructed a death/dream boat.
Started dreaming. The seagulls of heaven arrived.
Day five. Took a rest. Inhaled the balmy breeze of the blue
Mediterranean Sea. Strangers stared at each other.
Cautiously hummed songs of their dreams.
Day six. Stopped dreaming. Prepared for the unknownpath.
Some food, water and cigarettes.
Day seven. Dream danced again to the rhythm of the
palpitating hearts. Stuffed like little sardines in a can.
And the sharks would take care of everything.
town is surrounded
with mountains: Nude mountains
coated in grey ash. Not enough trees.
There are no vivid grass and no fountains.
The mountains seem to me like a round inedible cake.
How I long for vivid grass! How I long for ripples in a lake!
I wonder if I can dream of pastures, so green. A little blue boat sailing
a ravine. Water flows in a river, so serene. White sheep browsing the grass.
A shepherd holding a flute made up of brass. Scents, scenes, sounds, savours, and
strokes. All senses mingle. The body and the soul jubilantly jingle. What a bliss
to feel the body and the soul harmoniously kiss! Kiss bliss bliss kiss kiss kiss bliss
bliss bliss kiss. A snake was coming from the mountain hissing. “I really miss your
flesh,” she said. “Wake up from your dream. I wanna eat your flesh, so fresh.” She said.