Packing

Unpacking                       Packing Unpacking Packing                       Unpacking Packing All over again… Unpacking Shredding Tearing Folding Unfolding Keeping Throwing Packing Pieces of life In this house Full of memories That one feels forever attached to, Forever connected. Once again… Unpacking                       Packing Unpacking Packing                       Unpacking Packing                       Moving… ***

Diary

ለቅምሻ…

ዓሣ ጎርጓሪ…እንዲሉ…የኮሌጅ ማስታወሻ ደብተሬን እንዳጋጣሚ አገኘሁና ያኔ የሞነጫጨርኩትን ዳግም ሳነበው ፈገግ አሰኘኝ። አሁን፣ አሁን የግል ማስታወሻ ወይም ዳያሪ መፃፍ ትቻለሁ። የሚጻፍ ነገር ጠፍቶ ሳይሆን በቃ መጻፉ እያስጠላኝ ስለመጣ። መጥላትም ላይሆን ይችላል። ስንፍና? እድሜ ሲጨምር ስለ ግል ህይወት ማስታወሻ መፃፍ እንደ ጅልነት ተቆጥሮ? ከራስ ጋር ለመፋጠጥ ጊዜውም ትዕግስቱም ጠፍቶ? ብቻ ምክንያቱ ግልፅ አይደለም። በሌላ መልኩ ሳስበው ደግሞ አለመጻፍ ትልቅ ስህተት ይመስለኛል ምክንያቱም ነገሮች ተመዝግበው ቁጭ ሲሉ ጊዜ ካለፈ በኋላ ሲጎበኟቸው ከአስተማሪነታቸው ውጭ አዝናኝም ናቸው።…

I just want to say… (Winter Blues)

“I am by the window: Observing rapid snowflakes falling, On the concrete Outside this cold apartment, Without sticking. I just want to say That the view makes me think Of the days and nights We used to spend cuddling To keep each other warm; But that is now a memory I keep, locked in a room, Deep inside this melancholic heart. Dear, I may have contributed more to your unhappiness…

art-of-change-home

Nothing Has Been Wasted

Though some years have passed And some dreams have been deferred, Nothing has been wasted. Though you may feel unmoved, Or unfulfilled, Something has surely changed: Something visible, Or invisible, Something beyond What your eyes can see, Something in your internal sea. You are no longer the same, Except your name. You are constantly changing: You are being and becoming. And change can be nauseating; It can be very uncomfortable,…

via FB

The Green Yellow Red River

It flows, and flows; Never stops, never dries. It is the river of my ancestors, and of my future kins. I have drunk from it. I have washed my clothes, and have swum in it. Some of it travels beyond the horizon, and some of it stays or disappears within. The Green Yellow Red river of mother Ethiopia: Land of absurdity and utopia, Land of beauty and onomatopoeia, Land of…

Childhood Song – Part II (ኧረ አምሳለ … ኧረ አምሳለ)

Here is another childhood memory. These days my mind has been busy traveling back in time. I wonder why. I guess subconsciously I miss my childhood. I wish that innocence would stay forever. As we grow older we tend to hold onto our childhood memories to inspire us and to battle adulthood boredom. I guess we also go back to those memories to reclaim the lost innocence. But like Benjamin…

The Wooden Chair

Hello friends: Here is a poetry guest post from Ballon Makers. More guest posts coming soon.  Enjoy! :)  *** The Wooden Chair She frolicked on my shoulder and nibbled my cheek in a laughter She put herself in my luggage and zipped it firm like our bond until I convinced her holding my pen She wet her face at the station and she whispered, please see me across the ocean through…

Fragments of memories

I watch my brain cells Transport fragments Of my memories Across the turbulent ocean Of my inner space I watch them in silence Despite the chaos All around and inside me They move like submarines In war times I try to reconstruct the memories And turn them into A lovely dream embellished with pearls Instead of rotten shells Perhaps, the rotten shells aren’t that bad After all, they too are…