dance of death

parents

On the body of their child

They don't stand...

they rotate

Not to the rhythm

Not to music

not in the sense

rotation

It is the body's reaction

When the mind

It fails

mother

He opens his mouth

But the sound

It does not come out

the pain

The way of language is closed

her hair

Not worried

Not confused

They are ownerless

like a street

After the explosion

father

looks

But he does not see

the eyes

They are windows

facing the wall

child

It is not a corpse

It is not an object

He is not human either

It is a void

which is formed

Center of the room

center of the world

not being the center

and bodies

Around this void

they rotate

Not for goodbye

Not for meaning

to survive

movement

The last form of resistance

When the language is dead

And the thought is buried

the earth

It's harder than ever

air

Heavier than ever

time

Cash comes

like burnt meat

the mourners

are the environment

no man

they are walls

are shadows

are silent

no one

He does not offer condolences

because the word

passing power

There is no death from this volume

father

He opens his hands

Not for hugging

but for

not falling

mother

it rotates

Not for dancing

but for

Not standing by the collapse

and dance

It has no name

is movement

It is a convulsion of existence

body effort

To escape understanding

here

death

It is not an event

is the situation

and human

Not mourners

No protester

No believer

Not a disbeliever

only

It is an inventory

which has

from the inside

collapses

And it moves

so as not to splash

this

The dance is death

No ritual

No meaning

Not the narrative

only

bodies

that round a gap

they rotate

until

don't go crazy

#behnammohtarami#