My flag has fading colours frills bleached with time and silly ventures freed from enslaving poles and ravaging invaders claiming the infinite territories unoccupied land and annihilated colonies unholy earth of mass graves, wiping out walking dead men and their following wives pushing ugly offspring always in a hurry always attracted to some decrepit wall or idolatrous directions. My flag is clear despite my colour blindness its red carries all shades of human blood the traces left in love and war the pieces coming out of childbirth and what remains after napalm the inappropriately pink and the sombre death crimson the corporate expropriated colours from radical realms rarely realised rewritten graffiti and second hand manifestos. And there is whiteness in fifty shades the veiled and the exposed the unsaid and the sensational the smugness of whoreish virgins the shyness of sluts a pussy riot in corrupted cathedrals delusional linen on beds of arranged marriages on wedding night orgasmic orgies mimicking the nativity the allegedly sacred and the clearly desecrated the fantastic never-ending torture of phosphorous the void and the carte blanche the tabula rasa and the frantic scribblings on white boards and coffee-stained napkins the smoke-roller's paper the melancholic landscape of your skin.
Everything packed waiting to leave like the last droplets of blood of a decaying corpse. Boxes of books read, reread or unread clothes long out of fashion thanks to time's contempt folded chess boards remnants of half-baked home work on rickety copy books rickety vases strong evidence of adolescence traces of confusion -- Che Guevara and La Pietà are in the same box hope and degeneration uncared for silverware the emotional labyrinth of photo albums.
I'd like to think they are ants hibernating waiting to take life elsewhere when the spring sun will warm us again. Will we survive, then, in a new skeleton?
Let's be strangers again let's cross continents, war-torn countries touch the famished, the infected, the downtrodden walk through cyclones, floods, earthquakes let's get lost on windswept islands travel through cruel and merciful seasons let's be strangers with false maps and faulty compasses crossing through landmined checkpoints, haunted outposts, unsettled colonies so that we can find each other again behind the wall and its barbed wire in the noisy city or in the deserted landscapes in our little enclave or on some sprawling train at the zoo watching seals play so that we can retell each other our stories of wonder so that we can stand in awe of ourselves rediscover ourselves wearing blindfolds so that we can turn off the lights embraced once again as if love never happened as if it's been secretly waiting as if everything has yet to be said and done and nothing mattered.