Atef Ayadi Poet Romanticism

Eileen's Language

I hate colons, 
Semi-colons, 
Commas, 
All the dots, 
The street’s dashed and bold lines 
The formal and informal 
Business and love letters, 
And what worsens my stomach pain, 
The civilized patterns, 
Motifs, 
And jokes and dilemmas. 

I hate it all 
I hate to list, 
Lay down, 
Lay out, 
All the focused and structured 
Feelings, 
And etiquettes. 
I hate this inventory of 
What I like 
And what I do not like. 
I like to vomit them all; 
Like a rusted wood suitcase 
Is vomiting its rusted nails. 

I do not like to face you 
Eileen; 
Until I empty 
All my guts 
From the rust 
And the antic puppets, 
Heroes, and clowns 
I have been storing 
Since ancient times, 
Since the time my first ancestor 
Stood up 
And walked through the cold 
And warm lands. 

I will not promise you 
Eileen … 
Because, you never did 
Or you may not be there 
Waiting 
For me. 
For a fancy commitment. 
I hate to be prized, 
Competition, 
Waiting for a reward, 
Fake smiles, and 
Boredom 
Are my worst enemies. 
I like to earn you 
with my own sweat. 

I have to stay away 
Somewhere 
On the darkest spot of the sun 
Anywhere! 
It does not matter! 
I have to stay away 
From the language you speak, 
Your perfect grammar, 
Your perfect dress, 
Your perfect town, 
Your perfect healthy food, 
Your compulsive food, 
And your anxious thoughts 
And mood. 
I need to breathe first 
So I can 
Like you first 
And then up… 
Up … 
Love you again.

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