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May was the month of writing microtales. As I chose to write each day in one specific genre. Here are some of my favorite microtales -


In the middle of the night
out of a broken sleep
I felt I am a body
and my body craved for you -
your sensuous touch.
suddenly then, I saw,
my body split up in million
hideous insects who roamed in the room
everywhere - to eat the tiny vulgar scrapes of one's own mind. I didn't mind my body,
your touch,
the insects,
even vulgarity,
only the disturbed peaceful sleep -
wanted for another tiresome day.

Fishes in the aquarium

And then everybody talked about,
how fishes feel 'safe and happy',
in the tiny rectangular of aquarium.Though I protested, "No, they
feel tied up and suffocated."They said with humanely pride,
"they could have died in the ocean,
or must have been caught up in net
to meet their brutal fate."I said nothing
only glared in the eyes of
wiggling black and white fish -
their skins glowing under conditioning.
They made me feel,
fishes in the aquarium are girls of our type.


I am not Moon
I am a naked metal
lying in the chest of
yearning for the touch of fire,
rubbing, her conscience with stones
who reveal her the true history of their kinds. Stone to metal.
Metal to her nakedness -
that, this bare is much better
than the veil of moonshine.

Is this what a home looks like

One by one my photos have descended from frames,
the color of my wall has changed,
my old crayon box has been given away to a needy kid,
my clothes, which could stay behind me as a remembrance, are sent to my new house,
my books, old greeting cards, cds, old letters, folders must have become
heavy on cupboards, or expanded, for they are given away to me, as well. No, I don't mean to make you feel the other way.
Nobody wants you to feel a scrapped piece, I know.
Yet, I wonder, "is this a home feels like."where you stop yourself from going to.


Last time I ate countless cashews, was next day of Festival. We waited for guests but when nobody came until late, to fill the gap, we pretended ourselves to be guests. We smiled, roared, laughed, chatted and ate lots of cashews, pistachios, roasted almonds, walnuts. We tasted them after a hell, whole year. We savored them, although the excitement killed some taste. But it was fine. And after festival, we saw at the residues, looking at us from the air-tight container, as if they pitied us for being hopelessly rigid.


If I have all riches in the world,
If all my wishes come true,
If I could travel back in time and fix my errors,
If I could know my past lives and get answers of my questions,
If I could have you, to love me till eternity, Yet I know,
I would have been
broken and beautiful
a light, flickering too much.

You are in love with a sadomasochistic

She is a woman,
who sees herself as a tradition,
a ritual, a repetition. You met her, loved,
called her, your own.She loved you back.
called you, her own.... deep down her self,
she makes you angry,
forces you to leave her...Just, when you have made up your mind,
she grips you tight.
And the pain from her eyes, drips over your lips,
She lets you taste her bitter side.
You want to bite her pain, she escapes, like the shadow of your own dark side. Until you know, what is this,
I should tell you,
It is too late, my dear ! You are in love with a sadomasochistic


Start in normal mode.Refresh refresh refresh.All your memories are stored in X drive.Typed - Conversations.
Search in All Drives. There is no folder named : Conversations.Hang hang hang...Restart. [Things will be repeated.]