Your blood could have been blue
When you were cutting your wrist,
The sea would have flown into the river
And the cloud would have gone back to the rain
You were a collection of inner contradictions
With inflamed red vessels
And blue blood.
Talking with you was continuous,
When damn Iraqi tanks
Had moved on Sara’s doll
And you were not yet convinced that
Sara can breathe without her doll.
Your lips could have opened the door
Which some unrelated words have been poured outside of it
Or your eyes…
Your eyes could have been blue
To be hung behind the door
And stave off the danger.
Your left foot could have been behind my room,
Which does not know how to knock the door.
Or your hand…
Which you left its fingers between my fingers.
You are a collection of inner contradictions
That when you are nervous,
Your blood can be blue.