Duality

I am not my cell phone number

I am not my photo

I am not the bullets in my resume

I am not my profession

I am not what they say about me

I am not my money

I am not the color of my skin my eyes my hair

I am not my ethnicity

I am not my city my country my nationality

I am not any -ism

I am not my garment

I am not my perfume

I am not my family

I am not my age

I am not my gender

I am not my mind

I am even not my body

A Fruit

She said, I would give you a fruit

I said, okay

A fruit. What is a fruit?

A fruit from a tree bathing in the Andalusia sunshine

A lush garden paved in creamy white marbles

Above which stands an 800-year-old bell tower

A yellow sand stone tower

with breath-taking staircases deep in its belly

all the way up, as a spiral spine

You breathe heavily on your way up towards the sky

Pigeons are incubating eggs on the way

When you walk by they shake heads and stretch wings

Fly away, splashing breeze and feathers to your face

Oh eggs, white little eggs of pigeons

Sleeping in the old tower above civilized burrows

Deep burrows as abyss, burying the secret of civilizations

Mystery connects

Underground Roman cisterns

The rays of modern sun dance with the ancient green ripples

Boats!

We row boats under the arches with keystones

in the cosmos of the ancient green ripples

The water town in dreams sings its moist lullaby

Now I feel thirsty for a juicy fruit