The Woodpecker

The Woodpecker

I read somewhere they can bang their head to trees 1000 times of gravity’s force
That’s 956 times more than what humans are known to survive.
I am speaking of woodpeckers.

A woodpecker is banging his lonely head
I think of him
I tell him: “Hey bang your head or not, they sky is silver gray, and the room is too small for making love”

I hear the woodpecker outside my office.
And I think of you
With your rosy cheeks
Shaky hands
With your stress fueled steps,
pacing the living room for 237 miles.

I hear the woodpecker.
I think of your hands drawing the landscape of anxiety
in front of my eyes.
When I hear the woodpecker outside my office
I think of you and I go numb
– When did the time stop?
The woodpecker is poking a hole on your rib cage
The woodpecker is drunk;
Banging his head onto the cement wall of the past
The woodpecker is imprisoned in your body,
trying to poke a hole out.

I think of you in my office
Midday sun,
Luke warm coffee,
Piles of work
And all of us dying slowly.

So what if you bang your head until there is a hole in the wood
– will the light get in?
So what if you scream until the sky is split open
– what will come out of its intestines ?
Can you rush to the lake,
faster the rain drop?
Can you kiss the sun’s mouths,
and not cry?
Can you break the moon into thousand pieces
in your mouth?
Do what you want.
There always be despair,
always a pain,
until the woodpecker
pokes his way out.

Chicago, D.C., Iran
1.5.16 – 6.24.16 – 7.28.16